^".■] 


gggtef1 


■ "  ^m* 


/LITTLE  MISS 

PEGGY: 

•UUtkKjtUi UU 1.^  i!.iniA-. 


•NUR. 


ONLY 

A 
SERV 

BY 


STCRY 


MRS: 


MoLES 


WoRTI{ 


■iliiiiniHUiiiim'Xit 


WITH  PICTURES 

BY 

WALTBR  .  CHANE 


A.L.BUKT. 
PUBLISHER 

—  New  York- 


I 


: 


TO  THE  MEMORY  OF 

E.   L., 

THE     DEAR    YOUNG    FRIEND 

WHO  SUGGESTED  ITS  NAME  TO  THIS  LITTLE  STORY, 

AND  FROM  WHOSE  LATE  HOME, 

SO  INTIMATELY  ASSOCIATED  WITH  HER, 

THIS  DEDICATION  IS  MADE- 


Bindon,  August,  1887. 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 

in  2012  with  funding  from 

University  of  North  Carolina  at  Chapel  Hill 


http://www.archive.org/details/littlemisspeggyomole 


"  Would  I  could  paint  the  serious  brow, 
The  eyes  that  look  the  world  in  face, 
Half-questioning,  doubting,  wondering  how 
This  happens  thus,  or  that  finds  place." 

— My  Opposite  Neighbor. 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  I.  PAGE 

A  Breakfast-Party 1 

CHAPTER  II. 
The  White  Spot  on  the  Hill 18 

CHAPTER  III. 
"  The  Children  at  the  Back." 33 

CHAPTER  IV. 
"Real"  Fancies 49 

CHAPTER  V. 
The  Little  Red  Shoes 66 

CHAPTER  VI. 
Fellow- Feelings  and  Slippers  83 

CHAPTER  VII. 
A  Bun  to  the  Good 101 

CHAPTER  VIII. 
Under  the  Big  Umbrella 117 

CHAPTER  IX. 
The  Opposite  House 135 

CHAPTER  X. 
"  Soap-Bubbling  " 150 

CHAPTER  XL 
Up  Fernley  Road 167 

CHAPTER  XII. 
The  Shoes-Lady  Again 184 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTKATIONS. 


PAGE 

"  What  is  the  matter,  little  girls  ?"  said  the  lady. Frontispiece 
He  had  to  drum  with  a  spoon,  first  in  one  fat  hand  and  then 

in  the  other 2 

They  were  settled  on  the  hearth-rug — baby  on  Peggy's  lap. .     17 
"  See,  Hal,"  she  said,  "  over  there,  far,  far  away,  neely  in  the 

sky,  does  you  see  that  bluey  hill  ?  " 27 

She  was  rather  a  terrible-looking  old  woman;   she  always 

wore  a  short  bed-gown  ...  and  she  was  generally  to  be 

seen  with  a  pipe  in  her  mouth 35 

"  Tell  me  what  the  little  white  house  is  reely  like" 53 

Peggy  stood  still,  her  eyes  fixed  on  the  baby  shoes 70 

"  Here's  the  other  shoe;  I've  just  founded  it" 94 

Suddenly  a  window   above  opened,   and   Mother  Whelan's 

befrilled  face  was  thrust  out 110 

An  umbrella  rolling  itself  about  on  the  pavement 131 

"  To  be  sure,"  she  said,  in  her  most  gracious  tone.   "  'Tis  the 

beautiful  pipes  I  have" 142 

The  boys,  boy-like,  thought  little  but  of  who  could  blow  the 

biggest  bubbles 154 

Hushed  Light  Smiley  to  sleep,  her  arm  clasped  round  Peggy.  182 


LITTLE  MISS  PEGGY. 


CHAPTEK  I. 

A    BKEAKFAST-PARTY. 

"  Henry  was  every  morning  fed 
With  a  full  mess  of  milk  and  bread." 

— Maky  Lamb. 

"No,"  said  Peggy  to  herself,  with  a  little 
sigh,  "  the  naughty  clouds  has  covered  it  up 
to-day.     I  can't  see  it." 

"  Miss  Peggy,"  came  nurse's  voice  from  the 
other  side  of  the  room,  "your  breakfast's 
waiting.  Come  to  the  table,  my  dear,  and  stand 
quiet  while  Master  Thor  says  the  grace." 

Nurse  spoke  kindly,  but  she  meant  what  she 
said.  Peggy  turned  slowly  from  the  window 
and  took  her  place  among  her  brothers.  She, 
and  Thorold  and  Terence,  the  cwo  oldest  boys, 
sat  opposite  nurse,  and  beside  nurse  was  baby, 
who  required  a  great  deal  of  room  to  himself 
at  table,  baby  though  he  was.  He  had  so  many 
things  to  do  during  a  meal,  you  see,  which 
grown-up  children  think  quite  unnecessary.    He 


2  LITTLE  MISS  PEOG  Y. 

had  to  drum  with  a  spoon,  first  in  one  fat  hand 
and  then  in  the  other;  he  had  to  dip  his  crust 
first  in  nurse's  cup  of  tea  and  next  in  Hal's  jug 
of  milk  to  see  which  tasted  best,  and  there 
would  have  been  no  fun  in  doing  either  if  he 
hadn't  had  to  stretch  a  long  way  across ;  and 
besides  all  this  he  felt  really  obliged  now  and 
then  to  put  his  feet  upon  the  table  for  a  change, 
one  at  a  time,  of  course.  For  even  he,  clever 
as  he  was,  could  not  have  got  both  together 
out  of  the  bars  of  his  chair  without  toppling 
over.  Nurse  had  for  some  time  past  been 
speaking  about  beginning  "to  break  Master 
Baby  in,"  but  so  far  it  had  not  got  beyond 
speaking,  and  she  contented  herself  with  seat- 
ing him  beside  her  and  giving  him  a  good 
quarter  of  the  table  to  himself,  the  only  objec- 
tion to  which  was  that  it  gave  things  in  general 
a  rather  lop-sided  appearance. 

At  the  two  ends  sat  Baldwin  and  Hal. 
Hal's  real  name,  of  course,  was  Henry,  though 
he  was  never  called  by  it.  Baldwin,  on  the 
contrary,  had  no  short  name,  partly  perhaps 
because  mamma  thought  "  Baldie  "  sounded  so 
ugly,  and  partly  because  there  was  something 
about  Baldwin  himself  which  made  one  not 
inclined  to  shorten  his  name.     It  suited  him  so 


"  fcjaby,  who  rscjuircd  a  £rsat  d*:al  df  room 
to  himsdf  at  tatk,  baby  rhoucgk  h*  was. 
Hi  kad  50  many  tiling  to  do  clarin^amj^ 


you  szi,  which  <5rown- up  chilarzn  thinkauift 
unnzciss&ry.    H?    dad  to  dram  with  a.5boon 
first  in  om  fat  kand  and  thtn  in  tfu  otfuf* 
he  had  to  dih  his  crust  first  in  nuwi's  Cup  of 
tra  and   niKT   in  Hali  ju£  of  milk  to  5u  which 
tasttd  but,  and  thtn  wouIcV  haw  bun  no  fu.n 
in  doin£*;rfur    if  ht  hadn't*  had  to  stretch  a 
Ion<£  way  across;   and  bssidts  all  this  ht  fdt 
^ally  cblicgd  now  and  thin  to  put  hi  J  fist  up- 
on, rhs.    tabk   for  <dv  chan££(onrat  aft  rm, of  Co  uf;$!J 


A  BREAKFAST-PARTY.  3 

well,  for  lie  was  broad  and  comfortable  and 
slow.  He  was  never  in  a  hurry,  and  lie  gave 
you  the  feeling  that  you  needn't  be  in  a  hurry 
either.  There  was  plenty  of  time  for  every- 
thing, for  saying  the  whole  of  his  name  as  well 
as  for  everything  else. 

That  made  a  lot  of  brothers,  didn't  it  ?  Five, 
counting  baby,  and  to  match  them,  or  rather 
not  to  match  them — for  five  and  one  are  not  a 
match  at  all — only  one  little  girl  !  She  won- 
dered about  it  a  good  deal,  when  she  had 
nothing  else  more  interesting  to  wonder  about. 
It  seemed  so  very  badly  managed  that  she 
should  have  five  brothers,  and  that  the  -Rve 
brothers  should  only  have  one  sister  each.  It 
wasn't  always  so,  she  knew.  The  children  at 
the  back  had  plenty  of  both  brothers  and 
sisters ;  she  had  found  that  out  already.  But 
I  must  not  begin  just  yet  about  the  children  at 
the  back ;  you  will  hear  about  them  in  good 
time. 

There  was  a  nice  bowl  of  bread-and-milk  at 
each  child's  place,  and  as  bread-and-milk  is 
much  better  hot  than  cold,  it  was  generally 
eaten  up  quickly.  But  this  morning,  even  after 
the  grace  was  said,  and  the  four  brothers  who 
weren't  baby  had  got  on  very  well  with  theirs, 
Peggy  sat,  spoon  in  hand,  gazing  before  her 
and  not  eating  at  all. 


LITTLE  MISS  PEGGY. 


"  What's  tlie  matter,  Miss  Peggy  ?"  said- 
nurse,  when  she  had  at  last  made  baby  under- 
stand that  he  really  wasn't  to  try  to  put  his 
toes  into  her  tea-cup,  which  had  struck  him 
suddenly  as  a  very  beautiful  thing  to  do; 
"  you've  not  begun  to  eat.  Are  you  waiting 
for  the  sugar  or  the  salt,  or  can't  you  fix  which 
you  want  this  morning  ?" 

For  there  was  a  very  nice  and  interesting 
rule  in  that  nursery  that  every  morning  each 
child  might  choose  whether  he  or  she  would 
have  salt  or  sugar  in  the  bread- and-milk.  The 
only  thing  was  that  they  had  to  be  quick  about 
choosing,  and  that  was  not  always  very  easy. 

Peggy  looked  up  when  nurse  spoke  to  her. 

"Peggy  wasn't  'toosing,"  she  said.  Then 
she  grew  a  little  red.  "  I  wasn't  'toosing,"  she 
went  on.  For  Peggy  was  five — -Q.ye  sl  good 
while  ago — and  she  wanted  to  leave  off  baby 
ways  of  talking.     "  I  was  wondering." 

"  Well,  eat  your  breakfast,  and  when  you've 
got  half-way  down  the  bowl  you  can  tell  us 
what  you  were  wondering  about,"  said  nurse. 

Peggy's  spoon,  already  laden,  continued  its 
journey  to  her  mouth.  But  when  it  got  there, 
and  its  contents  were  safely  deposited  between 
her  two  red  lips,  she  gave  a  little  cry. 


A  BREAKFAST-PARTY.  5 

u  Oil !"  she  said,  "  it  doesn't  taste  good. 
There's  no  salt  or  sugar." 

"  'Cos  you  didn't  put  any  in,  you  silly  girl," 
said  Thor.  "  I  saw,  but  I  thought  it'd  be  a 
good  lesson.  People  shouldn't  wonder  when 
they're  eating." 

u  Peggy  wasn't  eating ;  she  was  only  going 
to  eat,"  said  Terry.  "  Never  mind,  Peg-top. 
Thor  shan't  tease  you.  Which'll  you  have  ? 
Say  quick,"  and  he  pulled  forward  the  sugar- 
basin  and  the  salt-cellar  in  front  of  his  sister. 

"  Sugar,  pelease,"  said  Peggy.  "  It's  so  told 
this  morning." 

At  this  Thor  burst  out  laughing. 

"  What  a  Peggy-speech,"  he  said.  "  Sugar's 
no  warmer  than  salt." 

"Yes,"  said  Baldwin  solemnly,  from  the 
other  end  of  the  table.  "  'Tis.  There's  sugar 
in  taffy  and  in  jam,  and  they're  hot,  leastways 
they're  hot  to  be  made.  And  there's  salt  in 
ices,  for  mamma  said  they're  made  with  salt." 
•  "  What  rubbish  !"  said  Thor.  "  Nurse,  isn't 
it  rubbish  ?  And  when  did  you  ever  see  ices, 
I'd  like  to  know,  Baldwin  ?" 

"  I  did,"  Baldwin  maintained.  "  Onst.  But 
I'll  not  tell  you  when,  if  you  say  rubbish." 

"It   is  rubbish  all  the  same,  and  I'll  prove 


6  LITTLE  MISS  PEOG  T. 

it,"  said  Tlior.  "  You  know  that  nice  smooth 
white  sugar  on  the  top  of  bridescake  ? — well 
they  ice  that  to  put  it  on — I  know  they  do 
Don't  they,  nurse  ?" 

"  They  call  it  icing,  to  be  sure,"  nurse  re 
plied.  "  But  that's  no  proof  that  ices  them 
selves  mayn't  be  made  with  salt,  Master  Thor 
for  when  you  come  to  think  of  it  ices  have 
sugar  in  them." 

"  To  be  sure  they  have,"  Thor  cried  trium- 
phantly. "  Nurse  has  proved  it — that  sugar's  no 
warmer  than  salt,"  which  was  not  what  nurse 
had  intended  to  say  at  all. 

But  now  Peggy,  who  all  this  time  had  been 
steadily  eating,  looked  up  again. 

"Peggy  was  wondering,"  she  said,  "what's 
clouds.     Is  clouds  alive  ?" 

Thor  was  all  ready  with  his  "  you  silly  girl " 
again,  but  this  time  Terry  was  before  him. 

"They  can't  be  alive,"  he  said.  "They've 
got  no  hands  or  feet,  or  mouths  and  noses,  and 
eyes  and " 

"They  has  noses,"  said  Peggy  eagerly. 
"  Peggy's  seen  them,  and  they  has  wings — the 
little  ones  has  wings,  they  fly  so  fast.  And 
p'r'aps  they  has  got  proper  faces  on  their  other 
sides,  to  look  at  the  sun  with.  I've  seen  shiny 
bits  of  the  other  sides  turned  over." 


A  BREAKFAST-PARTY.  7 

"  Yes,"  said  Baldwin  solemnly  again,  as  if 
that  settled  it,  "  so  has  I." 

"  But  they're  not  alive,  Peggy,  they're  really 
not.  They  fly  because  the  wind  blows  them," 
said  Terence. 

"  Oh !"  said  Peggy,  with  a  deep-drawn 
breath,  "  I  see.  Then  if  we  all  bio  wed  very 
hard  at  the  window,  if  we  all  blowed  together, 
couldn't  we  blow  them  aivay  ?  I  do  so  want 
to  blow  them  away  when  they  come  over  my 
hills." 

But  when  she  had  said  this  she  grew  very 
red,  just  as  if  she  had  told  something  she  had 
not  meant  to  tell,  and  if  any  one  had  looked  at 
her  quite  close  they  would  have  seen  that  there 
were  tears  in  her  eyes.  Fortunately,  however, 
no  one  had  noticed  her  last  words,  for  Thorold 
and  Terence  too  had  burst  out  laughing  at  the 
beginning  of  her  speech. 

"  Fancy  us  all  blowing  out  of  the  window 
together,"  they  said.  And  they  began  puffing 
out  their  cheeks  and  pretending  to  blow  very 
hard,  which  made  them  look  so  funny  that 
Pecrory  herself  burst  out  laufdiino;  too. 

"  I'll  tell  you  what,"  said  Thor,  when  they 
were  tired  of  laughing,  "that  reminds  me  of 
soap-bubbles ;  we  haven't  had  any  for  such  a 


8  LITTL  E  MISS  PEG  G  F. 

time.  Nurse,  will  you  remember  to  let  us  have 
them  the  first  wet  half -holiday  ?  Mamma'll  let 
us  if  you  will." 

"  And  the  pipes  ?"  said  nurse.  "  There  was 
six  new  got  the  last  time,  and  they  were  to 
last,  certain  sure,  till  the  next  time,  and 
then " 

"  Oh  !  I  know,"  said  Thor,  "  we  took  them  to 
school  and  never  brought  them  back.  Never 
mind — we'll  get  some  more  from  old  Mother 
Whelan.  She  always  keeps  lots.  We'll  keep 
our  halfpennies  for  two  Saturdays — that'll  do. 
But  we  must  be  going,  Terry  and  Baldwin. 
I'm  all  ready." 

And  he  jumped  up  as  he  spoke  and  pulled 
his  satchel  of  books  from  under  his  chair,  where 
he  had  put  them  to  be  all  ready.  Baldwin 
slowly  got  down  from  his  place,  for  he  was  not 
only  broad,  but  his  legs  were  very  short,  and 
came  up  to  nurse  to  be  helped  on  with  his 
little  overcoat,  while  Terence  began  rushing 
about  the  room  in  a  fuss,  looking  for  one  of  his 
books,  which  as  usual  couldn't  be  found  at  the 
last  minute. 

"  I  had  it  just  before  breakfast,  I'm  sure  I 
had,"  he  went  on  repeating.  "  I  haven't  finished 
learning  it,  and  I  meant  to  look  it  over.  Oh? 
dear,  what  shall  I  do  ?" 


A  BREAKFAST-PARTY.  9 

The  nursery  party  was  too  accustomed  to 
Terry's  misfortunes  to  be  much  upset  by  them. 
Peggy  sat  still  foi  a  moment  or  two  considering. 
Then  she  spoke. 

"  Terry,"  she  said,  "  look  in  baby's  cot." 

Off  flew  Terence,  returning  in  triumph, 
grammar  in  hand. 

"  I'll  learn  it  on  the  way  to  school.  How  did 
you  know  it  was  there,  Peggy  ?" 

"  I  sawed  you  reaching  over  to  kiss  baby 
when  you  corned  in  to  ask  nurse  for  a  new  shoe- 
lace this  morning,"  said  Peggy  with  great 
pride. 

"  Good  girl,"  said  Terence  as  he  slammed  the 
door  and  rushed  downstairs  to  overtake  his 
two  brothers. 

The  nursery  seemed  very  quiet  when  the  three 
big  boys  had  gone.  Quiet  but  not  idle  ;  there 
was  always  a  great  deal  to  do  first  thing  of  a 
morning,  and  Peggy  had  her  own  share  of  the 
doing  to  see  to.  She  took  off  her  own  breakfast 
pinafore  and  put  on  a  quite  clean  one — one  that 
looked  quite  clean  anyway,  just  as  if  it  had 
never  been  on,  even  though  it  had  really  been 
used  two  or  three  times.  Peggy  called  it  her 
"  prayers  pinafore,"  and  it  always  lasted  a  whole 
week,  as  it  was  only  worn  to  go  down  to  the 


10  LITTLE  MISS  PEGGY. 

dining-room  for  five  or  ten  minutes.  Then  she 
washed  her  hands  and  stood  still  for  nurse  to 
give  a  tidying  touch  to  her  soft  fair  hair,  though 
it  really  didn't  need  it — Peggy's  hair  never 
looked  messy — and  then  she  took  off  Hal's  over- 
pinafore  which  he  wore  on  the  top  of  his  blouse 
at  meal-times,  and  helped  him  to  wash  his  hands, 
by  which  time  nurse  and  baby  were  also  ready, 
and  the  little  procession  set  off  on  their  journey. 
If  the  prayers  bell  had  not  sounded  yet,  or  did 
not  sound  as  they  made  their  way  down,  nurse 
would  stop  at  mamma's  door  and  tap,  and  the 
answer  was  sure  to  be  "  Come  in."  Then  nurse 
would  go  on  downstairs  with  baby,  and  Peggy 
and  Hal  would  trot  in  to  see  mamma,  and  wait 
a  moment  or  two  till  she  was  ready.  She  was 
almost  always  nearly  ready,  unless  she  was 
very,  very  tired ;  and  in  that  case  she  would 
tell  them  to  go  downstairs  and  come  up  and  see 
her  again  after  prayers,  as  she  was  going  to 
have  breakfast  in  bed.  They  rather  liked  these 
days,  though  of  course  they  were  sorry  for 
mamma  to  be  so  tired,  but  it  was  very  interest- 
ing to  watch  her  having  her  breakfast,  and 
generally  one  or  two  dainty  bits  of  toast  and 
marmalade  would  find  their  way  to  the  two 
little  mouths. 


A  BREAKFAST-PARTY.  11 

It  was  only  since  last  winter  that  mamma 
had  been  so  often  tired  and  not  able  to  get  up 
early.  Before  then  she  used  always  to  come 
up  to  the  nursery  to  see  the  six  children  at 
breakfast,  and  prayers  were  early  enough  for 
the  three  boys  to  stay  for  them,  instead  of  hav- 
ing them  at  school.  For  mamma  was  not  at 
all  a  "  lazy  "  mother,  as  you  might  think  if  I  did 
not  explain.  But  last  winter  she  had  been  very 
ill  indeed,  so  ill  that  papa  looked  dreadfully  un- 
happy, and  the  boys  had  to  take  off  their  boots 
downstairs  so  as  not  to  make  any  noise  when 
they  passed  her  door,  and  the  days  seemed  very 
long  to  Peggy  and  Hal,  worst  to  Peggy  of  course, 
for  Hal  was  still  so  little  that  almost  all  his 
life  belonged  to  the  nursery.  It  was  during 
that  time  that  Peggy  first  found  out  the  white 
spot  on  the  hill,  which  I  am  going  to  tell  you 
about,  for  she  used  to  climb  up  on  the  window- 
sill  and  sit  there  looking  out  at  whatever 
there  was  to  see  for  hours  at  a  time. 

This  morning  mamma  was  evidently  not  tired, 
for  just  as  the  children  got  to  the  landing  on 
to  which  her  door  opened,  out  she  came. 

"  Well,  darlings,"  she  said,  "  there  you  are  ! 
Have  the  boys  got  off  to  school  all  rightly, 
nurse  ?" 


12  LITTLE  MISS  PEGGY. 

"  Oh,  yes,  roa'am,"  nurse  was  beginning,  but 
Peggy  interrupted  her. 

"  Terry  loosed  his  book,  mamma  dear,  and 
Peg — I  founded  it ;  I  knewed  where  it  was  'cos 
I  used  my  eyes  like  you  said." 

"  That  was  a  very  good  thing,"  said  mamma. 
She  had  talked  to  Peggy  about  using  her  eyes 
a  good  deal,  for  Peggy  had  rather  a  trick  of 
going  to  sleep  with  her  eyes  open,  like  many 
children,  and  it  becomes  a  very  tiresome  trick 
if  it  isn't  cured,  and  makes  one  miss  a  great 
many  chances  of  being  useful  to  others,  and  of 
enjoying  pleasant  things  one's  self.  "  Poor 
Terry — I  wish  he  wasn't  so  careless.  Where 
was  his  book  this  time  ?" 

-"  In  such  a  funny  place,  mamma  dear,"  said 
Peggy.  "  In  baby's  cot,"  and  at  the  sound  of 
his  name  baby  crowed,  which  made  both  Peggy 
and  Hal  burst  out  laughing,  so  that  mamma 
had  to  hold  their  hands  firmly  to  prevent  their 
tumbling  downstairs. 

After  prayers  were  over  nurse  took  baby  and 
Hal  away,  but  papa  said  Peggy  might  stay 
for  a  few  minutes. 

"  I've  scarcely  seen  you  the  last  day  or  two, 
old  woman,"  he  said ;  "  you  were  fast  asleep 
when  I  came  home.  What  have  you  been 
about  ?" 


A  BREAKFAST-PARTY.  13 

"  About,"  Peggy  repeated,  looking  puzzled. 

"  Well — what  have  you  been  doing  with 
yourself  T  he  said  again. 

"  I've  been  doing  nothing  with  myself," 
Peggy  replied  gravely.  "  I've  done  my  lessons 
and  my  sewing,  and  I've  used  my  eyes." 

"  Well,  and  isn't  all  that  yourself  ?"  asked 
papa,  who  was  rather  a  tease.  "  You've  done 
your  sewing  with  your  fingers  and  your  lessons 
with  your  mind,  and  you've  used  your  eyes  for 
both — mind,  fingers,  eyes — those  are  all  parts 
of  yourself." 

Peggy  spread  out  her  two  hands  on  the  table 
and  looked  at  the  ten  pink  fingers. 

"  Them's  my  fingers,"  she  said,  "  but  I  don't 
know  where  that  other  thing  is — that  what 
thinks.  I'd  like  to  know  where  it  is.  Papa, 
can't  you  tell  me  ?" 

There  came  a  puzzled  look  into  her  soft  gray 
eyes — mamma  knew  that  look ;  when  it  stayed 
long  it  was  rather  apt  to  turn  into  tears. 

"  Arthur,"  she  said  to  Peggy's  papa,  "  you're 
too  fond  of  teasing.  Peggy  dear,  nobody  can 
see  that  part  of  you  ;  there  are  many  things  we 
can't  ever  see  or  hear  or  touch,  which  are  real 
things  all  the  same." 

Peggy's  face  lightened  up  again.    She  nodded 


14  LITTLE  MISS  PEGG  T. 

her  head  softly,  as  if  to  say  that  she  understood. 
Then  she  got  down  from  her  chair  and  went  up 
to  her  father  to  kiss  him  and  say  good-by. 

"  Going  already,  Peg  !"  he  said.  "  Don't  you 
like  papa  teasing  you  V 

"I  don't  mind,"  said  Peggy  graciously; 
"  you're  only  a  big  boy,  papa.  I'm  going  'cos 
nurse  wants  me  to  keep  baby  quiet  while  she 
makes  the  beds." 

But  when  she  got  round  to  the  other  side  of 
the  table  to  her  mother,  she  lingered  a  moment. 

"  Mamma,"  she  whispered,  "  it's  not  there  this 
morning — Peggy's  fairy  house.  It's  all  hided 
up.     Mamma " 

"Well,  darling?" 

"  Are  you  sure  it'll  come  back  again  ?" 

"Quite  sure,  dear.  It's  only  hidden  by  the 
clouds,  as  I've  told  you  before.  You  know 
you've  often  been  afraid  it  was  gone,  and  it's 
always  come  again." 

"Yes,  to  be  sure,"  said  Peggy,  "What  a 
silly  little  girl  I  am,  mamma  dear." 

And  she  laughed  her  own  little  gentle  laugh. 
I  can't  tell  how  it  was  that  Peggy's  little 
laugh  used  sometimes  to  bring  tears  to  her 
mother's  eyes. 

When   she  got  up  to  the  nursery  again  she 


A  BREAKFAST-PART T.  15 

found  she  was  very  much  wanted.  Nurse  was 
in  the  night  nursery,  which  opened  into  the 
day  one,  and  looked  out  to  the  back  of  the 
house  just  as  the  other  looked  to  the  front. 
And  baby  was  sitting  on  the  hearth-rug,  with 
Hal  beside  him,  both  seeming  far  from  happy. 

"  Baby's  deiful  c'oss,  Peggy,"  said  poor  Hal. 

And  baby,  though  he  couldn't  speak,  pouted 
out  his  lips  and  looked  very  savage  at  Hal, 
which  of  course  was  very  unreasonable  and 
ungrateful  of  him,  as  Hal  had  been  doing 
everything  he  could  to  amuse  him,  and  had 
only  objected  to  baby  pulling  him  across  the 
floor  by  his  curls. 

"  Oh,  baby,"  said  Peggy,  "  that  isn't  good. 
Poor  Hal's  hair — see  how  you've  tugged  it." 

For  baby  was  still  grasping  some  golden 
threads  in  his  plump  fists. 

"Him  sinks  zem's  fedclers,"  said  Hal  apolo- 
getically. He  was  so  fond  of  baby  that  he 
couldn't  bear  any  one  to  say  anything  against 
him  except  himself. 

"  But  baby  must  learn  hairs  isn't  feathers," 
said  Peggy  solemnly.  "And  it  isn't  good  to 
let  him  pull  the  feathers  out  of  his  parrot 
either,  Hal,"  she  continued,  "  for  some  day  he 
might  have  a  live  parrot,  and  then  it  would  be 


1 6  LITTLE  MISS  PEGO  Y. 

cooel,  and  the  parrot  would  bite  him — yes,  it 
would,  baby.'' 

This  was  too  much  for  baby.  He  drew  the 
corner  of  his  mouth  down,  then  he  opened  it 
wide,  very  wide,  and  was  just  going  to  roar 
when  Peggy  threw  her  arms  round  him  and 
kissed  him  vigorously. 

"He's  sorry,  Hal — dear  baby — he's  so  very 
sorry.  Kiss  him,  Hal.  Let's  all  kiss  to- 
gether," and  the  three  soft  faces  all  met  in  a 
bunch,  which  baby  found  so  amusing  that  in- 
stead of  continuing  his  preparations  for  a  good 
cry,  he  thought  better  of  it,  and  went  off  into 
a  laugh. 

"  That's  right,"  said  Peggy.  "  Now  if  you'll 
both  be  very  good  boys  I'll  tell  you  a  story. 
Just  wait  a  minute  till  I've  tooked  off  my 
prayers  pinafore.' ' 

She  jumped  up  to  do  so.  While  she  was 
unfastening  it  her  eyes  moved  to  the  window ; 
she  gave  a  little  cry  and  ran  forward.  The 
day  was  clearing  up,  the  sun  was  beginning 
faintly  to  shine,  and  the  clouds  were  breaking. 

"  Mamma  was  right,"  exclaimed  Peggy  joy- 
fully ;  "  I  can  see  it — I  can  see  it !  I  can  see 
my  white  house  again,  my  dear  little  fairy 
house." 


/Vnd  In  csnotnLr  moment'  iUty 
yis/zrs.    ssLtNiLd  on  tki  hi*Tth-ru£- 

B^by  on  P&ggy*  'Ap-  OH.  ^n<^ 
off  it  too,  for  it  was  rmxcK  too 
SmcxU  tb  cxccomodzvfc  ttu  whok 
of  hivn;  H^l  on  IJu  floor  bisicli 
hvri  his  curly  KiAoI  U&nm£on 
his  sisters  shomldir  in  fcliss/ul 
and   trustful    content 


G 


*l 


-*£> 


/■ 


y  m 


« 


A.  BREAKFAST-PARTY.  17 

She  would  have  stayed  there  gazing  out  con- 
tentedly half  the  morning  if  her  little  brothers 
had  not  called  her  back. 

u  Peggy,"  said  Hal  plaintively,  "  do  turn. 
Baby's  pulling  Hal's  'air  adain." 

u  Peggy's  coming,  dear,"  said  the  motherly 
little  voice. 

And  in  another  moment  they  were  settled 
on  the  hearth-rug — baby  on  Peggy's  lap — 
on,  and  off  it  too,  for  it  was  much  too  small 
to  accommodate  the  whole  of  him ;  Hal  on 
the  floor  beside  her,  his  curly  head  leaning 
on  his  sister's  shoulder  in  blissful  and  trustful 
content. 


18  LITTLE  MISS  PEGG  Y. 


CHAPTER  II. 

THE    WHITE    SPOT    ON    THE    HILL. 

" 0  reader!  had  you  in  your  mind 
Such  stores  as  silent  thought  can  bring, 
0  gentle  reader!  you  would  find 
A  tale  in  everything. 
What  more  I  have  to  say  is  short, 
And  you  must  kindly  take  it: 
It  is  no  tale;  but,  should  you  think, 
Perhaps  a  tale  you'll  make  it." 

— W.    WOKDSWORTH. 

"  Telling  stories,"  when  the  teller  is  only 
five  and  some  months  old,  and  the.  hearers  one 
and  a  quarter  and  three,  is  rather  a  curious 
performance.  But  Peggy  was  well  used  to  it, 
and  when  in  good  spirits  quite  able  to  battle 
with  the  difficulties  of  amusing  Hal  and  baby 
at  the  same  time.  And  these  difficulties  were 
not  small,  for,  compared  with  baby,  Hal  was 
really  "grown-up." 

It  is  all  very  well  for  people  who  don't  know 
much  about  tiny  children  to  speak  of  them  all 


THE  WHITE  SPOT  ON  THE  HILL.  19 

together,  up  to — six  or  seven,  let  ns  say — as 
"  babies,"  but  we  who  think  we  do  know  some- 
thing about  them,  can  assure  the  rest  of  the 
world  that  this  is  an  immense  mistake.  One 
year  in  nursery  arithmetic  counts  for  ten  or 
even  more  in  real  "  grown-up "  life.  There 
was  a  great  difference  between  Peggy  and  Hal, 
for  instance,  but  a  still  greater  between  Hal 
and  baby,  and  had  there  been  a  new  baby 
below  him  again,  of  course  it  would  have 
been  the  greatest  of  all.  Peggy  could  not 
have  explained  this  in  words,  but  she  knew  it 
thoroughly  all  the  same,  and  she  had  learned 
to  take  it  into  account  in  her  treatment  of  the 
two,  especially  in  her  stories  telling.  In 
reality  the  story  itself  was  all  for  Hal,  but 
there  was  a  sort  of  running  accompaniment  for 
baby  which  he  enjoyed  very  much,  and  which, 
to  tell  the  truth,  I  rather  think  Hal  found 
amusing  too,  though  he  pretended  it  was  for 
baby's  sake. 

This  morning  her  glance  out  of  the  window 
had  made  Peggy  feel  so  happy  that  the  story 
promised  to  be  a  great  success.  She  sat  still 
for  a  minute  or  two,  her  arms  clasped  round 
baby's  waist,  gently  rocking  herself  and  him  to 
and  fro,  while  her  gray  eyes  stared  before 
her,  as  if  reading  stories  in  the  carpet  or  on  the 
wall. 


20  LITTLE  MISS  PEGG  7. 

u  peggy?"  saicj  Hal  at  last,  giving  lier  a  hug 
— he  had  been  waiting  what  he  thought  a  very 
long  time — "  Peggy,  doe  on — no,  I  mean  begin, 
p'ease." 

"Yes,  Hal,  d'reckly,"  said  Peggy.  "It's 
coming,  Hal,  yes,  now  I  think  it's  corned. 
Should  we  do  piggies  first,  to  please  baby 
before  we  begin  ?" 

"  Piggies  is  so   silly,"  said  Hal  disdainfully. 

"  Well,  we'll  kiss  him  instead — another  kiss 
all  together,  he  does  so  like  that ;"  and  when 
the  kissing  was  over — "  now,  baby  dear,  listen, 
and  p'r'aps  you'll  understand  some,  and  if  you're 
good  we'll  have  piggies  soon." 

Baby  gave  a  kind  of  grunt ;  perhaps  he  was 
thinking  of  the  pigs,  but  most  likely  it  was  just 
his  way  of  saying  he  would  be  very  good. 

"  There  was  onst,"  Peggy  began,  "  a  little  girl 
who  lived  in  a  big  house  all  by  herself." 

"  Hadn't  she  no  mamma,  or  nurse,  or — or — 
brudders  ?"  Hal  interrupted. 

"  No,  not  none,"  Peggy  went  on.  "  She  lived 
quite  alone,  and  she  didn't  like  it.  The  house 
was  as  big  as  a — as  a  church,  'and  she  hadn't 
no  bed,  and  no  chairs  or  tables,  and  there  was 
very,  very  high  stairs." 

"Is  there  stairs  in  churches?"  asked  Hal. 


THE  WHITE  SPOT  ON  THE  HILL.  21 

Peggy  looked  rather  puzzled. 

"  Yes,  I  think  there  is,"  she  said.  "  There's 
people  high  up  in  churches,  so  there  must  be 
stairs.  But  I  didn't  say  it  were  a  church,  Hal ; 
I  only  said  as  big  as  a  church.  And  the  stairs 
was  for  baby — you'll  hear — pYaps  there  wasn't 
reelly  stairs.  Now,  baby,  one  day  a  little 
piggy-wiggy  came  up  the  stairs — one,  two, 
three,"  and  Peggy's  hand  came  creeping  up 
baby's  foot  and  leg  and  across  his  pinafore  and 
up  his  bare  arm  again,  by  way  of  illustrating 
piggy's  progress,  "  and  when  he  got  to  the  top 
he  said  '  grumph,'  and  poked  his  nose  into  the 
little  girl's  neck  " — here  Peggy's  own  nose  made 
a  dive  among  baby's  double  chins,  to  his  ex- 
ceeding delight,  setting  him  oif  chuckling  to 
himself  for  some  time,  which  left  Peggy  free  to 
go  on  with  the  serious  part  of  the  story  for 
Hal's  benefit — "  and  there  was  a  window  in  the 
big  house,  and  the  little  girl  used  to  sit  there 
always  looking  out." 

"Always?"  asked  Hal  again.  "All  night 
too  ?     Didn't  her  ever  go  to  bed  ?" 

"  She  hadn't  no  bed,  I  told  you.  No,  she 
didn't  sit  there  all  night,  'cos  she  couldn't  have, 
see'd  in  the  dark.  Never  mind  about  the  night. 
She  sat  there  all  day,  always  looking  out,  'cos 
there  was  something  she  liked  to  see.     If  I  tell 


22  LITTLE  MISS  PEOO  T. 

you  you  won't  tell  nobody  what  it  was,  will 
you,  Hal  P 

Hal  looked  very  mystified,  but  replied 
obediently : 

"  No,  won't  tell  nobody,"  he  said. 

"  Well,  then,  I'll  tell  you  what  it  was.  It 
was  a — ■ — "  But  at  this  moment  baby,  having 
had  enough  of  his  own  meditations,  began  to 
put  in  a  claim  to  some  special  attention.  The 
piggy  had  to  be  summoned  and  made  to  run  up 
and  down  stairs  two  or  three  times  before  he 
would  be  satisfied  and  allow  Peggy  to  proceed. 

"  Well,  Peggy  ?"  said  Hal  eagerly. 

"  It  was  a "    Oh,  dear,  interrupted  again  ! 

But  this  time  the  interruption  was  a  blessing 
in  disguise.  It  was  nurse  come  to  fetch  baby 
for  his  morning  sleep. 

"  And  thank  you,  Miss  Peggy,  my  dear,  for 
keeping  him  so  nice  and  good.  I  heard  you 
come  up,  and  I  knew  they'd  be  all  right  with 
you,"  she  said  as  she  walked  away  with  baby, 
who  was  by  no  means  sure  that  he  wanted  to 
go. 

"Now,"  said  Hal,  edging  closer  to  Peggy, 
"  we'll  be  comf able.  Go  on,  Peggy — what  she 
sawed." 

"  It  was  a  hill — far,  far  away,  neely  as  far  as 


THE  WHITE  SPOT  ON  THE  HILL,  23 

the  sky,"  said  Peggy  in  a  mysterious  tone. 
"  When  the  sun  comes  she  could  see  it  plain — 
the  hill  and  what  was  there,  but  when  the  sun 
goed  she  couldn't.  There  was  a  white  spot  on 
the  hill,  Hal,  and  that  white  spot  was  a  lovely 
white  cottage.  She  knowed  it  though  she'd 
never  see  d  it." 

"  How  did  she  know  it  ?" 

"  Her  mam — no,  that's  wrong,  she  hadn't 
no  mamma — well,  never  mind,  somebody 'd  told 
her." 

"  Were  it  God  ?"  asked  Hal,  in  an  awestruck 
whisper. 

"  I  don't  know.  No,  I  don't  think  so.  I 
think  it's  a  little  naughty  to  say  that,  Hal. 
No,  dear,  don't  cry,"  for  signs  of  disturbance 
were  visible  in  Hal's  round  face.  "  You  didn't 
mean,  and  it  isn't  never  naughty  when  we  don't 
mean,  you  know.  We'll  go  on  about  the  little 
girl.  She  knowed  it  was  a  lovely  cottage,  and 
she  wanted  very  much,  as  much  as  could  be,  to  go 
there,  for  the  big  house  wasn't  pretty,  and  it 
was  dark,  nearly  black,  and  the  cottage  was  all 
white." 

"  Her  house  wasn't  as  nice  as  zit,  were  it  ? 
Zit  house  isn't  b'ack,"  said  Hal. 

"  No,"  said  Peggy  doubtfully.  "  It  wasn't 
as  nice  as  this,  but  the  white  house  was  much 
prettier  than  this." 


24  LITTLE  MISS  PEGGY. 

"How  Tasked  Hal. 

"  Oil  !"  said  Peggy,  letting  her  eyes  and  her 
fancy  rove  about  together,  "I  think  it  was 
beautiful  all  over.  It  was  all  shiny  white  ;  the 
walls  was  white,  and  the  carpets  was  white,  and 
the  tables  and  the  chairs  was  white — all  shiny 
and  soft  like — like " 

"  Baby's  best  sash,"  suggested  Hal. 

"  Well,  pVaps — that'll  do.  And  there  was  a 
cow  and  chickens  and  sheep,  and  a  kitchen  where 
you  could  make  cakes,  and  a  garden  with  lots 
of  flowers  and  strawberries " 

"  All  white  ?"  asked  Hal. 

"  No,  of  course  not.  Strawberries  couldn't 
be  white,  and  flowers  is  all  colors.  'Twas  the 
droind-room  that  was  all  white." 

"  And  the  milk  and  the  eggs.  Zem  is  white," 
said  Hal  triumphantly. 

"  Very  well.  I  didn't  say  they  wasn't.  But 
the  story  goes  on "  that  the  little  girl  didn't 
know  how  to  get '  there ;  it  was  so  far  and  so 
high  up.  So  she  sat  and  cried  all  alone  at  the 
window." 

"  All  alone,  poor  little  girl,"  said  Hal,  with 
deep  feeling.  "  Kick,  Peggy,  kick,  I'm  doeing 
to  cry  ;  make  it  come  right  kick.  The  crying's 
just  coming." 


THE  WHITE  SPOT  ON  THE  HILL.  26 

"  Make  it  wait  a  minute.  I  can't  make  it 
come  right  all  so  quick,"  said  Peggy.  "  It's  going 
to  come,  so  make  the  crying  wait.  One  day 
she  was  crying  d'edful,  worse  than  never,  'cos 
the  sun  had  goned,  and  she  couldn't  see  the 
white  cottage  no  more,  and  just  then  she  heard 
something  saying,  '  mew,  mew,'  and  it  was  a 
kitten  outside  the  window,  and  it  was  just 
going  to  fall  down  and  be  killed." 

"  That's  not  coming  right.  I  must  cry,"  said 
Hal. 

"  But  she  opened  the  window — there  now, 
you  see — and  she  pulled  the  kitten  in,  so  it 
didn't  fall  down,  and  it  was  so  pleased  it  kissed 
her,  and  when  it  kissed  her  it  turned  into  a 
fairy,  and  it  touched  her  neck  and  made  wings 
come,  and  then  it  opened  the  window  again 
and  Hewed  away  with  the  little  girl  till  they 
came  to  the  white  cottage,  and  then  the  little 
girl  was  quite  happy  for  always." 

"  Did  the  fairy  stay  with  her  always  ?"  asked 
Hal. 

"  No  ;  fairies  never  does  like  that.  They  go 
back  to  fairyland.  But  the  little  girl  had  nice 
milk  and  eggs  and  cakes,  and  she  made  nose- 
gays with  the  flowers,  and  the  sun  was  always 
shining,  so  she  was  quite,  quite  happy." 

"  Her  couldn't  be  happy  all  alone,"  said  Hal. 


26  LITTLE  MISS  PEGG  7. 

"  I  don't  like  zat  story,  Peggy.  You  haven't 
made  it  nice  at  all.     It's  a  nonsense  story." 

Hal  wriggled  about  and  seemed  very  cross. 
Poor  Peggy  was  not  so  much  indignant  as  dis- 
tressed at  failing  in  her  efforts  to  amuse  him. 
What  was  the  matter  ?  It  couldn't  be  that  he 
was  getting  sleepy — it  was  far  too  early  for  his 
morning  sleep. 

"  It  isn't  a  nonsense  story,"  she  said,  and  she 
glanced  toward  the  window  as  she  spoke. 
Yes,  the  sun  was  shining  brightly,  the  morning 
clouds  had  quite  melted  away ;  it  was  going  to 
be  a  fine  day  after  all.  And  clear  and  white 
gleamed  out  the  spot  on  the  distant  hill  which 
Peggy  loved  to  gaze  at !  "  Come  here,  Hal," 
she  said,  getting  on  to  her  feet  and  helping  Hal 
on  to  his,  "  come  with  me  to  the  window  and 
you'll  see  if  it's  a  nonsense  story.  Only 
you're  never  to  tell  nobody.  It's  Peggy's  own 
secret." 

Hal  forgot  his  crossness  in  a  minute ;  he  felt 
so  proud  and  honored.  Peggy  led  him  to  the 
window.  It  was  not  a  very  pretty  prospect ; 
they  looked  out  on  to  a  commonplace  street, 
houses  on  both  sides,  though  just  opposite 
there  was  a  little  variety  in  the  shape  of  an 
old-fashioned,    smoke-dried    garden.      Beyond 


j\nd  above  xUi 
fobs  of  all  Thi  houses 
clsar  Hiougk  faint, 
WtXi  now  tobi  sun 
flai  oatlini  of  a  ranfo; 
of  Mb,  50  sofrfygray. 
\d\ui  m  fhi  di$  Janet 
Haat  but  for  fta  imc? 
udar  I  ins.  nivir 
chanJi'ricf  m  its  form 
ont  could  Easily  h&JL 
rancud  it  was  only  t"ht  jcld*  of  a  auickfy  bass- 
ing  r'd<g:  of  clouds.  P^gy ,  how/zv^r,  kruw/ 
biTter. 

"St*.,  Hal/   shi  said,  "ovir  fntri,  far,  far  a- 
way,  m^  in  rkc  s>ky,  dots  you  siz  t*kaf 
bluty     Kill  ? 


THE  WHITE  SPOT  ON  THE  HILL.  27 

that  again,  more  houses,  more  streets,  stretch- 
ing away  out  into  suburbs,  and  somewhere 
beyond  all  that  again  the  mysterious,  beautiful, 
enchanting  region  which  the  children  spoke 
of  and  believed  in  as  "the  country,"  not 
really  so  far  off  after  all,  though  to  them  it 
seemed  so. 

And  above  the  tops  of  all  the  houses,  clear 
though  faint,  was  now  to  be  seen  the  outline 
of  a  range  of  hills,  so  softly  gray -blue  in  the 
distance  that  but  for  the  irregular  line  never 
changing  in  its  form,  one  could  easily  have 
fancied  it  was  only  the  edge  of  a  quickly 
passing  ridge  of  clouds,  Peggy,  however, 
knew  better. 

"See,  Hal,"  she  said,  "over  there,  far,  far 
away,  neely  in  the  sky,  does  you  see  that  bluey 
hill  ?" 

Of  course  he  saw,  agreeing  so  readily  that 
Peggy  was  sure  he  did  not  distinguish  rightly, 
which  was  soon  proved  to  be  the  case  by  his 
announcing  that  "  The  'ill  were  sailing  away." 

"No,  no,  it  isn't,"  Peggy  cried.  "You've 
mustooked  a  cloud,  Hal.  See  now,"  and  by 
bringing  her  own  eyes  exactly  on  a  level  with 
a  certain  spot  on  the  glass  she  was  able  to 
place  his  correctly,  "just  over  that  little  bubble 
in  the  window  you  can  see  it.     Its  top  goes  up 


28  LITTLE  MISS  PEGO  T. 

above  the  bubble,  and  then  down  and  then  up 
again,  and  it  never  moves  like  the  clouds — 
does  you  see  now,  Hallie  dear  ?" 

"  Zes,  zes,"  said  Hal,  "  but  it's  a  weeny  little 
'ill,  Peggy." 

"No,  dear,"  his  sister  explained.  "It  only 
looks  little  'cos  it's  so  far  away.  You  is  too 
little  to  understand,  dear,  but  it's  true  that  it's 
a  big  hill,  neely  a  mounting,  Hal.  Mamma 
told  me." 

"  Oh,"  said  Hal,  profoundly  impressed  and 
quite  convinced. 

"  Mountings  is  old  hills,  or  big  hills,"  Peggy 
continued,  herself  slightly  confused.  "  I  don't 
know  if  they  is  the  papas  and  mammas  of  the 
little  ones,  but  I  think  it's  something  like  that, 
for  oust  in  church  I  heard  the  clergymunt  read 
that  the  little  hills  jumped  for  joy,  so  they  must 
be  the  children.  I'll  ask  mamma,  and  then  I'll 
tell  you.  I'm  not  quite  sure  if  he  meaned  the 
same  kind,  for  these  hills  never  jumps — that's 
how  mamma  told  me  to  know  they  wasn't 
clouds." 

"  Zes,"  said  Hal,  "  but  go  on  about  the  secret, 
Peggy.     Hal  doesn't  care  about  the  'ills." 

"  But  the  secret's  on  the  hills,"  replied  Peggy. 
"  Look  more,  Hal — does  you  see  a  teeny,  teeny 


THE  WHITE  SPOT  ON  THE  HILL.  29 

white  spot  on  the  bluey  hill  ?  Higher  up  than 
the  bubble,  but  not  at  the  top  quite  ?" 

Hal's  eyes  were  good  and  his  faith  was  great. 

"  Zes,  zes,"  he  cried.  "  I  does  see  it — kite 
plain,  Peggy."  ^ 

"  Well,  Hallie,"  Peggy  continued,  "  that's  my 
secret." 

"  Is  it  the  fairy  cottage,  and  is  the  little  girl 
zere  now  ?"  Hal  asked  breathlessly. 

Peggy  hesitated. 

"  It  is  a  white  cottage,"  she  said.  "  Mamma 
told  me.  She  looked  at  it  through  a  seeing 
pipe." 

"  What's  a  seeing  pipe  ?"  Hal  interrupted. 

"  I  can't  tell  you  just  now.  Ask  mamma  to 
show  you  hers  some  day.  It's  too  difficult  to 
understand,  but  it  makes  you  see  things  plain. 
And  mamma  found  out  it  was  reelly  a  cottage, 
a  white  cottage,  all  alone  up  on  the  hill — 
isn't  it  sweet  of  it  to  be  there  all  alone, 
Hallie  ?  And  she  said  I  might  think  it  was  a 
fairy  cottage  and  keep  it  for  my  own  secret, 
only  I've  telled  you,  Hal,  and  you  mustn't  tell 
nobody." 

"  And  is  it  all  like  baby's  best  sash,  and 
are  there  cakes  and  f 'owers  and  cows  ?"  asked 
Hal. 


30  LITTLE  MISS  PEGG  T. 

"  I  don't  know.  I  made  up  the  story,  yon 
know,  Hal,  to  please  yon.  I've  made  lots — 
mamma  said  I  might.  But  I've  never  see'd  the 
cottage,  you  know.  I  dare  say  it's  beautiful, 
white  and  gold  like  the  story,  that's  why  I  said 
it.  It  does  so  shine  when  the  sun's  on  it- — look, 
look,  Hal !" 

For  as  she  spoke  the  sunshine  had  broken 
out  again  more  brilliantly ;  and  the  bright,  thin 
sparkle  which  often  dazzles  one  between  the 
showers  in  unsettled  weather,  lighted  up  that 
quarter  of  the  sky  where  the  children  were 
gazing,  and,  to  their  fancy  at  least,  the  white 
spot  caught  and  reflected  the  rays. 

"  Oh,  zes,  I  see,"  Hal  repeated.  "  But,  Peggy, 
I'd  like  to  go  zere  and  to  see  it.  Can't  we  go, 
Peggy  ?  It  would  be  so  nice,  nicer  than  making 
up  stories.  And  do  you  think — oh,  do  you 
think,  Peggy,  that  p'r'aps  there's  pigs  zere,  real 
pigs  ?" 

He  clasped  his  hands  entreatingiy  as  he 
spoke.  Peggy  must  say  there  were  pigs.  Poor 
Peggy — it  was  rather  a  come,  clown  after  her 
fairy  visions.  But  she  was  too  kind  to  say  any- 
thing to  vex  Hal. 

u  I  thought  you  said  pigs  was  silly,"  she  ob- 
jected gently. 


THE  WHITE  SPOT  ON  THE  HILL.  31 

"  Playing  pigs  to  make  baby  laugh  is  silly." 
said  Hal,  "  and  pigs  going  to  market  and  stayin' 
at  'ome  and  roast  beehn'  is  d'edful  silly.  But 
not  real  pigs." 

"  Oil,  well,  then,  you  may  think  pigs  if  you 
like,"  said  Peggy.  "  I  don't  think  I  will,  but 
that  doesn't  matter.  You  may  have  them  in 
the  cottage  if  you  like,  only  you  mustn't  tell 
Thor  and  Terry  and  Baldwin  about  it." 

"  I  won't  tell,  on'y  you  might  have  them 
too,"  said  Hal  discontentedly.  u  You're  not 
kind,  Peggy." 

"  Don't  let's  talk  about  the  cottage  any  more, 
then,"  said  Peggy,  though  her  own  eyes  were 
fixed  on  the  far-off  white  spot  as  she  spoke. 
"  I  think  p'r'aps,  Hallie,  you're  rather  too  little 
to  care  about  it." 

"  I'm  not,"  said  Hal,  "  and  I  do  care.  But 
I  do  like  pigs,  real  pigs.  I  sawed  zeni  in  the 
country." 

"You  cant  remember,"  said  Peggy.  "It's 
two  whole  years  since  we  was  in  the  real 
country,  Hallie,  and  you're  only  three  and  a 
half.  I  know  it's  two  years.  I  heard  mamma 
say  so  to  papa,  so  you  wasn't  two  then." 

"  But  I  did  see  zem  and  I  do  'amember,  'cos 
of  pictures,"  said  Hal. 


32  LITTLE  MISS  PEGGY. 

"  Oh,  yes,  dear,  there  is  pictures  of  pigs  in 
your  scrap-book,  I  know,"  Peggy  agreed. 
"  You  get  it  now  and  we'll  look  for  them." 

Off  trotted  Hal,  returning  in  a  minute  with, 
his  book,  and  for  a  quarter  of  an  hour  or  so  his 
patient  little  sister  managed  to  keep  him  happy 
and  amused.  At  the  end  of  that  time,  however, 
he  began  to  be  cross  and  discontented  again. 
Peggy  did  not  know  what  to  make  of  him  this 
morning,  he  was  not  often  so  difficult  to  please. 
She  was  very  glad  when  nurse  came  in  to  say 
it  was  now  his  time  for  his  morning  sleep,  and 
though  Hal  grumbled  and  scolded  and  said  he 
was  not  sleepy  she  carried  him  off,  and  Peggy 
was  left  in  peace. 

She  was  not  at  a  loss  to  employ  herself. 
At  half -past  eleven  she  usually  went  down  to 
mamma  for  an  hour's  lessons,  and  it  must  be 
nearly  that  time  now.  She  got  her  books 
together  and  sat  looking  over  the  one  verse 
she  had  to  learn,  her  thoughts  roving  never- 
theless in  the  direction  they  loved  best — 
away  over  the  chimneys  and  the  smoke ;  away, 
away,  up,  up  to  the  fairy  cottage  on  the  distant 
hill. 


THE  CHILDREN  AT  THE  BACK:'  33 


CHAPTER  III. 


"  THE    CHILDREN    AT    THE    BACK." 


"It  seems  tome  if  I'd  money  enough, 
My  heart  would  be  made  of  different  stuff; 
I  would  think  about  those  whose  lot  is  rough." 

— Mrs.  Hawtrey. 


These  children's  home  was  not  in  a  very 
pretty  place.  In  front,  as  I  have  told  you,  it 
looked  out  on  to  a  rather  ugly  street,  and  there 
were  streets  and  streets  beyond  that  again — 
streets  of  straight,  stiff,  grim-looking  houses, 
some  large  and  some  small,  but  all  commonplace 
and  dull.  And  in  and  out  between  these  bigger 
streets  were  narrower  and  still  uglier  ones, 
scarcely  indeed  to  be  called  streets,  so  dark  and 
poky  were  they,  so  dark  and  }3oky  were  the 
poor  houses  they  contained. 

The  street  immediately  behind  the  chil- 
dren's house,  that  on  to  which  its  back  windows 
looked  out,  was  one  of  these  poorer  ones,  though 
not   by  any  means  one  of  the  most  miserable. 


34  LITTLE  MISS  PUGG  T. 

And  ugly  though  it  was,  Peggy  was  very  fond 
of  gazing  out  of  the  night  nursery  window  on 
to  this  street,  especially  on  days  when  it  was 
"  no  use,"  as  she  called  it  to  herself,  looking  out 
at  the  front ;  that  meant,  as  I  dare  say  you  can 
guess,  days  on  which  it  was  too  dull  and  cloudy 
to  see  the  distant  hills,  and  above  all  the  white 
spot,  which  had  taken  such  hold  on  her  fancy. 
For  she  had  found  out  some  very  interesting 
things  in  that  dingy  street.  Straight  across 
from  the  night  nursery  window  was  a  very 
queer  miserable  sort  of  a  shop,  kept  by  an  old 
Irishwoman  whose  name  was  Mrs.  Whelan.  It 
is  rather  absurd  to  call  it  a  shop,  though  it  was 
a  place  where  things  were  bought  and  sold,  for 
the  room  in  which  these  buyings  and  sellings 
went  on  was  Mrs.  Whelan's  kitchen,  and  bed- 
room, and  sitting-room,  and  wash-house,  as  well 
as  her  shop  !  It  was  on  the  first  floor,  and  you 
got  up  to  it  by  a  rickety  staircase — more  like 
a  ladder  indeed  than  a  staircase,  and  under- 
neath it  on  the  ground-floor  lived  a  cobbler, 
with  whom  Mrs.  Whelan  used  to  quarrel  at 
least  once  a  day,  though  as  he  was  a  patient, 
much-enduring  man,  the  quarrels  never  went 
further  than  the  old  Irishwoman's  opening  her 
window   and   shouting   down    all  manner    of 


was 


-fafkir  a.  ftr.- 
Titli-  looking 
old 


^ 


wom^n 


sk*  aJway* 
worr  a  5KotT 
bid  -  down  , 
tkat   is  21  \oosL 
Kind  of  j&ik& 
Tbucfkly  drawn 
«n  at  tki    wai&t,  of  waskid   out  Cotfon,  wkick 
ruvtr    looked    cUan  ,  and    V£+  5orrukov\/  mwr 
Sstmtd  to  <git  muck  dirtier,  cV  bUck  stuff 
(ntti  coat,  and  acc\p  wirk    U&iofrtnS     frills 
VA/k  ick    Ojuifi    hid   Y\IT    f^C£     unl^S  you  Wiri 
viry   markzx.and    ^hi     wa.5    <St n i rally  to  ki 
sun    witk   a  Joifn    in   kir    motxtk .      Hsv 
voici     w<\5    ootk     loud    <xkJ    i^rill^and 
wkt*     sk*    was    in  <x  tzwxhir    you  <ou.ld 
almost   kiar    wkat   ski    .said  ,    tkoudk    tki      . 
hujf5*.ry     window     va/^s     _shtxf\  S^k 


"THE  CHILDREN  AT  THE  BACK."  35 

scoldings  to  the  poor  fellow,  of  which  he  took 
no  notice. 

On  Sundays  the  cobbler  used  to  tidy  him- 
self up  and  go  olf  to  church  "  like  a  gentleman," 
the  boys  said.  But  Mrs.  Whelan,  alas  !  never 
tidied  herself  up,  and  never  went  to  church, 
and  though  she  made  a  great  show  of  putting 
a  shutter  across  that  part  of  the  window  which 
showed  "  the  shop,"  nurse  had  more  than  once 
shaken  her  head  when  the  children  were 
dressing;  for  church,  and  told  them  not  to  look 
over  the  way,  she  was  sadly  afraid  the  shutting 
or  shuttering  up  was  all  a  pretense,  and  that 
Mrs.  Whelan*  made  a  good  penny  by  her  Sunday 
sales  of  tobacco  and  pipes  to  the  men,  or  maybe 
of  sugar,  candles,  or  matches  to  careless  house- 
keepers who  had  let  their  stock  run  out  too 
late  on  Saturday  night. 

She  was  rather  a  terrible-looking  old  woman  ; 
she  always  wore  a  short  bed-gown,  that  is,  a 
loose  kind  of  jacket  roughly  drawn  in  at  the 
waist,  of  washed-out  cotton,  which  never  looked 
clean,  and  yet  somehow  never  seemed  to  get 
much  dirtier,  a  black  stuff  petticoat,  and  a  cap 
with  napping  frills  which  quite  hid  her  face 
unless  you  were  very  near  her,  and  she  was 
generally  to  be  seen  with  a  pipe  in  her  mouth. 


36  LITTLE  MISS  PUGG  Y. 

Her  voice  was  both  loud  and  shrill,  and  when 
she  was  in  a  temper  yon  could  almost  hear 
what  she  said,  though  the  nursery  window  was 
shut.  All  the  neighbors  were  afraid  of  her, 
and  in  consequence  treated  her  with  great 
respect.  But  like  most  people  in  this  world, 
she  had  some  good  about  her,  as  you  will 
hear. 

Good  or  bad,  the  children,  Peggy  especially, 
found  Mrs.  Whelan  very  interesting.  Peggy 
had  never  seen  her  nearer  than  from  the 
window,  and  though  she  had  a  queer  sort  of 
wish  to  visit  the  shop  and  make  closer  acquaint- 
ance with  the  old  crone,  she  was  far  too  fright- 
ened of  her  to  think  of  doing  so  really.  The 
boys,  however,  had  been  several  times  inside 
Mrs.  "Whelan's  dwelling,  and  used  to  tell 
wonderful  stories  of  the  muddle  of  things  it 
contained,  and  of  the  old  woman  herself.  They 
always  bought  their  soap-bubble  pipes  there, 
a  three  a  penny,"  and  would  gladly  have  bought 
some  of  the  taffy -balls  and  barley-sugar  which 
were  also  to  be  had,  if  this  had  not  been 
strictly  forbidden  by  mamma,  in  spite  of  their 
grumbling. 

"  It  isn't  so  very  dirty,  mamma,"  they  said, 
"  and  you  get  a  lot  more  for  a  penny  than  in  a 
proper  shop." 


"THE  CHILDREN  AT  THE  BACK."  37 

But  mamma  would  not  give  in.  She  knew 
what  Mrs.  Whelan  was  like,  as  she  used  some- 
times to  go  over  herself  to  talk  to  the  poor  old 
woman,  but  that,  of  course,  was  a  different 
matter. 

"  I  don't  much  like  your  going  there  at  all," 
she  would  say,  u  but  it  pleases  her  for  us  to 
buy  some  trifles  now  and  then."" 

But  in  her  heart  she  wished  very  much  that 
they  were  not  obliged  to  live  in  this  dreary  and 
ugly  town,  where  their  poor  neighbors  were 
rarely  the  sort  of  people  she  could  let  her 
children  know  anything  of.  Mamma,  in  her 
childhood,  had  lived  in  that  fairyland  she  called 
"the  country,"  and  so  had  papa,  and  they  still 
looked  forward  to  being  there  again,  though  for 
the  present  they  were  obliged  to  make  the  best 
of  their  home  in  a  dingy  street. 

It  seemed  much  less  dull  and  dingy  to  the 
children  than  to  them,  however.  Indeed,  I 
don't  think  the  children  ever  thought  about  it 
at  all.  The  boys  were  busy  at  school,  and 
found  plenty  of  both  work  and  play  to  make 
the  time  pass  quickly,  and  Peggy,  who  might 
perhaps  have  been  a  little  dull  and  lonely  in 
her  rather  shut-up  life,  had  her  fancies  and  her 
wonders — her  interesting  things  to  look  at  both 


38  LITTLE  MISS  PEGGY. 

at  the  front  and  the  back  of  the  house,  and 
mamma  to  tell  all  about  them  to  !  And  this 
reminds  me  that  I  have  not  yet  told  you  what 
it  was  she  was  most  fond  of  watching  from  the 
night  nursery  window.  It  was  not  Mrs.  Whe- 
lan  or  the  cobbler ;  it  was  the  tenants  of  the 
third  or  top  story  of  the  rickety  old  house — the 
family  she  always  spoke  of  to  herself  as  "  the 
children  at  the  back." 

Such  a  lot  of  them  there  were.  It  was  long 
before  Peggy  was  able  to  distinguish  them  "  all 
from  each  other,"  as  she  said,  and  it  took  her 
longer  still  to  make  names  by  which  she  could 
keep  a  clear  list  in  her  head.  The  eldest  looked 
to  her  quite  grown-up,  though  in  reality  she 
was  about  thirteen  ;  she  was  a  big  red-cheeked 
girl,  though  she  lived  in  a  town ;  her  arms  were 
red  too,  poor  thing,  especially  in  winter,  for 
they  were  seldom  or  never  covered,  and  she 
seemed  to  be  always  at  work,  scrubbing  or 
washing,  or  running  out  to  fetch  two  or  three 
of  the  little  ones  in  from  playing  in  the  gutter. 
Peggy  called  her  "  Eeddy,"  and  though  it  was 
the  girl's  red  cheeks  and  arms  which  made  her 
first  choose  the  name,  in  a  while  she  came  to 
think  of  it  as  meaning  "  ready"  also,  for  Peggy 
did  not  know  much  about  spelling  as  yet,  and 


"THE  CHILDREN  AT  THE  BACK."  39 

the  thought  in  her  mind  of  the  look  of  the 
two  words  was  the  same.  For  a  good  while 
Peggy  fancied  that  Reddy  was  the  nurse  or 
servant  of  the  family,  but  one  day  when  she 
said  something  of  the  kind  to  her  own  nurse 
she  was  quickly  put  right. 

"  Their  servant,  my  dear !  Bless  you,  no. 
How  could  they  afford  to  keep  a  servant  \ 
They've  hard  enough  work  to  keep  themselves, 
striving  folk  though  they  seem.  There's  such 
a  many  of  them,  you  see,  and  mostly  so  little — ■ 
save  that  big  girl  and  the  sister  three  below 
her,  there's  none  really  to  help  the  mother. 
And  the  cripple  must  be  a  great  charge." 

"  What's  the  cripple,  nursey  ?"  Peggy  asked. 

"  Why,  Miss  Peggy,  haven't  you  noticed  the 
white-faced  girl  on  crutches  %  You  must  have 
seen  her  dragging  up  and  clown  in  front  of  the 
house  of  a  fine  day." 

"  Oh,  yes,"  said  Peggy,  "  but  I  didn't  know 
that  was  called  cripple.  And  she's  quite  little ; 
she's  as  little  as  me,  nurse  !" 

"  She's  older  than  she  looks,  poor  thing,"  said 
nurse — "  maybe  oldest  of  them  all." 

This,  however,  Peggy  could  not  believe. 
She  fixed  in  her  own  mind  that  "  Crippley " 
came    after   the  two  boys  who  were  evidently 


40  LITTLE  MISS  PEGG  Y. 

next  to  Recldy — she  did  not  give  the  boys 
names,  for  they  did  not  interest  her  as  mnch  as 
the  girls.  Having  so  many  brothers  of  her 
own  and  no  sister,  it  seemed  to  her  as  if  a  sister 
mnst  be  the  very  nicest  thing  in  the  world,  and 
of  all  the  children  at  the  back  the  two  that  she 
liked  most  to  watch  were  a  pair  of  little  girls 
about  three  years  older  than  herself,  whom  she 
named  "  The  Smileys,"  "  Brown  Smiley "  and 
"  Light  Smiley "  when  she  thought  of  them 
separately,  for  though  they  were  very  like 
each  other  the  color  of  their  hair  was  different. 
They  were  very  jolly  little  girls,  poorly  clad  and 
poorly  fed  though  they  were,  taking  life  easily, 
it  seemed — too  easily  in  the  opinion  of  their 
eldest  sister  Recldy,  and  the  sister  next  above 
them — between  them  and  Crippley,  according 
to  Peggy's  list.  This  sister  was  the  only  one 
whose  real  name  Peggy  knew,  by  hearing  it  so 
frequently  shouted  after  her  by  the  mother 
and  Reddy.  For  this  child,  "Mary-Hann," 
was  rather  deaf,  though  it  was  not  till  long 
afterward  that  Peggy  found  this  out. 

. "  Mary-Hann  "  was  a  patient,  stupid  sort  of 
girl,  a  kind  of  second  in  command  to  Redely, 
and  she  was  like  Reddy  in  appearance,  except 
that  she  was  several  sizes  smaller  and  thinner, 


"THE  CHILDREN  AT  THE  BACK."  41 

so  that  even  supposing  that  her  arms  were  as 
reel  as  her  sister's  they  did  not  strike  one  in 
the  same  way. 

Below  the  Smileys  came  another  boy,  who 
was  generally  to  be  seen  in  their  company,  and 
who,  according  to  Peggy,  rejoiced  in  the  name 
of  "  Tip."  And  below  Tip  were  a  few  babies, 
in  reality  I  believe  more  than  three,  during  the 
years  through  which  their  little  over-the-way 
neighbor  watched  them.  But  even  she  was 
obliged  to  give  up  hopes  of  classifying  the 
babies,  for  there  always  seemed  to  be  a  baby 
about  the  same  age,  and  one  or  two  others  just 
struggling  into  standing  or  rather  tumbling 
alone,  and  forever  being  picked  up  by  Redely 
or  her  attendant  sprite  Mary-Hann. 

Such  were  Peggy's  "  children  at  the  back." 
And  many  a  dull  day,  when  it  was  too  rainy  to 
go  for  a  walk  and  too  cloudy  to  be  "  any  use  " 
to  gaze  out  of  the  front  of  the  house,  did  these 
poor  children,  little  as  they  guessed  it,  help  to 
make  pass  more  quickly  and  pleasantly  for  the 
sisterless  maiden.  Many  a  morning  when  Hal 
and  baby  were  asleep  and  nurse  was  glad  to 
have  an  hour  or  so  for  a  bit  of  ironing,  or  some 
work  of  the  kind  down  in  the  kitchen — for  my 
Peggy's  papa  and  mamma  were  not  rich    and 


42  LITTLE  MISS  PEGG  T. 

could  not  keep  many  servants,  so  that  nnrse 
though  she  was  plain  and  homely  in  her  ways, 
was  of  far  more  use  than  a  smarter  young 
woman  to  them — many  a  morning  did  the  little 
girl,  left  in  the  night  nursery  in  charge  of  her 
sleeping  brothers,  take  up  her  stand  at  the 
window  which  overlooked  Mrs.  Whelan's  and 
the  cobbler  and  the  Smileys  with  all  their 
brothers  and  sisters.  There  was  always  some- 
thing new  to  see  or  to  ask  nurse  to  explain 
afterward.  For  ever  so  long  it  took  up  Peggy's 
thoughts,  and  gave  much  conversation  in  the 
nursery  to  "  plan  "  how  the  ten  or  eleven  chil- 
dren, not  to  speak  of  the  papa  and  mamma, 
could  all  find  place  in  two  rooms.  It  kept 
Peggy  awake  at  night,  especially  if  the  weather 
happened  to  be  at  all  hot  or  close,  to  think 
how  very  uncomfortable  poor  Redely  and  Crip- 
pley  anel  Mary-Hann  and  the  Smileys  must  be, 
all  sleeping  in  one  bed,  as  nurse  said  was  too 
probably  the  case.  Anel  it  was  the  greatest 
relief  to  her  mind,  and  to  nurse's  too,  I  do 
believe,  to  eliscover  by  means  of  some  cautious 
inquiries  of  the  cobbler  when  nurse  took  him 
over  some  of  the  boys'  boots  to  mend,  that  the 
family  was  not  so  short  of  space  as  they  had 
feared. 


"THE  CHILDREN  A T  THE  BACK."  43 

"  They've  two  other  rooms,  Miss  Peggy,  as 
doesn't  show  to  the  front,"  said  nurse,  "  two 
attics  with  sloping  windows  in  the  roof  to 
their  back  again.  And  they're  striving  folk, 
he  says,  as  indeed  any  one  may  see  for  their- 
selves." 

"  Then  how  shall  we  plan  it  now,  I  wonder," 
said  Peggy,  looking  across  to  the  Smileys' 
mansion  with  new  respect.  But  nurse  had 
already  left  the  room,  and  perhaps,  now  she 
was  satisfied  their  neighbors  were  not  quite  so 
much  to  be  pitied,  wonld  scarcely  have  had 
patience  to  listen  to  Peggy's  "  wonderings " 
about  them.  So  the  little  girl  went  on  to 
herself : 

"  I  should  think  the  downstairs  room  is  the 
papa's  and  mamma's  and  the  teeniest  baby's, 
and  perhaps  Crippley  sleeps  there,  as  she's  ill, 
like  me  when  I  had  the  hooping-cough  and  I 
couldn't  sleep  and  mamma  kept  jumping  up  to 
me.  And  then  the  big  boys  and  Tip  has  one 
room — '  ticks,'  nurse  calls  the  rooms  with  win- 
dows in  the  roof.  I  think  I'd  like  to  sleep  in 
a  L  tick  '  room ;  you  must  see  the  stars  so  plain 
without  getting  up  ;  and — and — let  me  see, 
Eeddy  and  Mary-IIann  and  the  Smileys  and  the 
old  babies — no,  that's  too  many — and  I  don't 


44  LITTLE  MISS  PEGGY. 

know  how  many  old  babies  there  is.  We'll 
say  one — if  there's  another  it  must  be  a  boy 
and  go  in  the  boys'  tick — and  that  makes  Redely 
and  Mary " 

"  Miss  Peggy,  your  mamma's  ready  for  yonr 
lessons,"  came  the  housemaid's  voice  at  the 
door,  and  Peggy  hurried  off.  But  she  was 
rather  in  a  brown-study  at  her  lessons  that 
morning.  Mamma  could  not  make  her  out  at 
all,  till  at  last  she  shut  up  the  books  for  a 
minute  and  made  Peggy  tell  her  where  her 
thoughts  were  wool-gathering. 

"  Not  so  very  far  away,  mamma  dear,"  said 
Peggy,  laughing.  She  never  could  help  laugh- 
ing when  mamma  said  "  funny  things  like  that." 
"  Not  so  very  far  away.  I  was  only  wondering 
about  the  children  at  the  back." 

She  called  them  always  "  the  children  at  the 
back"  when  she  spoke  of  them — for  even  to 
mamma  she  would  have  felt  shy  of  telling  her 
own  names  for  them.  And  then  she  went  on 
to  repeat  what  nurse  had  heard  from  the 
cobbler.  Mamma  agreed  that  it  was  very  in- 
teresting, and  she  too  was  pleased  to  think 
"  the  children  at  the  back's  house,"  as  Peggy 
called  it,  was  more  commodious  than  might 
have    been    expected.      But    still,    even  such 


"THE  CHILDREN'  AT  THE  BACK:*  45 

interesting  things  as  that  must  not  be  allowed 
to  interfere  with  lessons.  Peggy  must  put  it 
all  out  of  her  head  till  they  were  done  with, 
and  then  mamma  would  talk  about  it  with 
her. 

"  Only,  mamma,"  said  Peggy,  "  I  don't  know 
what  com — commo — that  long  word  you  said, 
means." 

u  I  should  not  have  used  it,  perhaps,"  said 
mamma.  "  And  yet  I  don't  know.  If  we  only 
used  the  words  you  understand  already,  you 
would  never  learn  new  ones — eh,  Peggy  !  Com- 
modious just  means  large,  and  not  narrow  and 
squeezed  up." 

Peggy  nodded  her  head,  which  meant  that 
she  quite  understood,  and  then  the  lessons  went 
on  smoothly  again. 

When  they  were  over,  mamma  talked  about 
poor  people,  especially  about  poor  children,  to 
Peggy,  and  explained  to  her  more  than  she  had 
ever  done  before  about  what  being  poor  really 
means.  It  made  Peggy  feel  and  look  rather 
sad,  and  once  or  twice  mamma  was  afraid  she 
was  going  to  cry,  which,  of  course,  she  did  not 
wish  her  to  do.  But  Peggy  choked  down  the 
crying  feeling,  because  she  knew  it  would  make 
her  mother  sorry  and  would  not  do  the  poor 
people  any  good. 


46  LITTLE  MISS  PEGGY. 

"  Mamma,"  slie  said,  "  it  neely  makes  me  cry, 
but  I  won't.  But  when  I'm  big  can't  I  do 
something  for  the  children  at  the  back  V 

"They  won't  be  children  then,  Peggy  dear. 
You  may  able  to  do  something  for  them  with- 
out waiting  for  that.  I'll  think,  about  it.  I 
don't  fancy  they  are  so  very  poor.  As  I  have 
been  telling  you,  there  are  many  far  poorer. 
But  I  dare  say  they  have  very  few  pleasures 
in  their  lives.  We  might  try  to  think  of  a  little 
sunshine  for  them  now  and  then." 

"  The    Smile "    began   Peggy,    but    she 

stopped  suddenly,  growing  red — "the  littler 
ones  do  play  a  good  deal  in  the  gutter,  mamma 
dear,"  she  said,  anxious  to  state  things  quite 
fairly  ;  "  but  I  don't  think  that's  very  nice  play, 
and  the  sun  very  seldom  shines  there.  And 
Red — the  big  ones,  mamma  dear,  and  the  one 
that  goes  on — I  can't  remember  the  name  of 
those  sticks." 

"  Crutches,"  said  mamma. 

"  Yes,  crutches — her  never  has  no  plays  at  all, 
I  don't  think.  She'd  have  more  sunshine  at 
the  'nother  side  of  our  house,  mamma  dear." 

Mamma  smiled.  Peggy  did  not  understand 
that  mamma  did  not  mean  "  sunshine  "  exactly 
as  she   took  it ;  she  forgot,  too,  that  of  actual 


"THE  CHILDREN  AT  THE  BACK."  47 

sunshine  more  fell  on  the  back  street  than  she 
thought  of.  For  it  was  only  on  dull  or  rainy 
days  that  she  looked  out  much  on  the  children 
at  the  back.  On  fine  days  her  eyes  were  busy 
in  another  direction. 

"  I'll  think  about  it,"  said  mamma.  So 
Peggy  for  the  present  was  satisfied. 

This  talk  about  the  Smileys  and  the  rest  of 
them  had  been  a  day  or  two  before  the  morning 
on  which  we  first  saw  Peggy — the  morning 
that  Thor  tried  so  to  make  fun  of  her  about 
choosing  sugar  in  her  bread-and-nrilk,  because 
it  was  cold.  Mamma  had  not  said  any  more 
about  the  children  at  the  back,  and  this  partic 
ular  morning  Peggy  herself  was  not  thinking 
very  much  about  them.  Her  head  was  running 
a  good  deal  on  the  white  cottage  and  all  her 
fancies  about  it,  and  she  was  feeling  rather  dis- 
appointed that  she  had  not  succeeded  better 
in  amusing  Hal  by  her  stories. 

"  It  must  be,  I  suppose,"  she  said  to  herself, 
"  that  he's  rather  too  little  for  that  kind  of 
fancy  stories.  I  wonder  if  Baldwin  would  like 
them ;  it  would  be  nice  to  have  somebody  to 
make  fancies  with  me." 

But  somehow  Baldwin  and  the  fairy  cottage 
did  not  seem  to  match.     And  Thor  and  Terry 


48  LITTLE  MISS  PEGGY. 

were  both  much  too  big — Thor  would  laugh  at 
her,  and  Terry  would  think  it  waste  of  time ; 
he  had  so  many  other  things  to  amuse  himself 
about.  No,  Peggy  could  not  think  of  any  one 
who  would  "  understand,"  she  decided  with  a 
sigh  ! 


'REAL"  FANCIES.  49 


CHAPTER  IV. 


"real"    fancies. 


"Mine  be  a  cot  beside  the  hill." 

— Samuel  Rogers. 

Just  then  came  the  usual  summons  to  her 
lessons.  Mamma  was  waiting  for  her  little  girl 
in  the  corner  of  the  drawing-room,  where  she 
always  sat  when  she  was  teaching  Peggy.  It 
was  a  very  nice  corner,  near  the  fire,  for  though 
it  was  not  winter  it  was  rather  chilly,  and 
mamma  often  felt  cold.  Thor  used  to  tell  her 
that  she  should  take  a  good  run  or  have  a  game 
of  cricket  to  warm  her;  it  would  be  much 
better  than  sitting  near  the  fire.  Peggy  thought 
it  was  rather  unkind  of  Thor  to  say  so,  but 
mamma  only  laughed  at  him,  so  perhaps  it  was 
just  his  boy  way  of  speaking. 

Peggy  said  her  lessons  quite  well,  but  she 
looked  rather  grave ;  no  smiles  lighted  up  her 
face,  and  when  lessons  were  over  she  sat  still 
without  speaking,  and  seemed  as  if  she  scarcely 


50  LITTLE  MISS  PEGGY. 

knew    what  she  wanted  to  do  do  with  her- 
self. 

"  Is  there  anything  the  matter,  dear  ?"  mam- 
ma ashed. 

"  I'm  rather  tired,  I  think,  mamma,"  Peggy 
replied. 

"  Tired  !"  mamma  repeated,  in  some  surprise. 
It  wasn't  often  that  Peggy  talked  of  being 
tired.  "  What  is  that  with  ?  You've  not  been 
worrying  yourself  about  the  children  who  live 
over  Mrs.  Wkelan's,  I  hope  ?  You  mustn't  do 
that,  you  know,  dear ;  it  would  do  you  harm 
and  them  no  good." 

For  mamma  knew  that  Peggy  sometimes  did 
"  worry "  about  things — "  Once  she  takes  a 
thing  in  her  head  she'll  work  herself  up  so,  for 
all  she  seems  so  quiet,"  nurse  would  say. 

"  No,  mamma  dear,"  Peggy  replied  ;  "  I'm 
not  tired  because  of  that.  I  like  thinking 
about  the  children  at  the  back.    I  wish " 

"  What  r  said  mamma. 

"  I  wish  I'd  sisters  like  them.  I'm  rather 
lonely,  mamma.  I  do  think  God  might  have 
gaved  one  sister  to  Peggy,  and  not  such  a  great 
lot  to  the  children  at  the  back." 

"  But  you  have  your  brothers,  my  dear  little 
girl.     You  might  have  been  an  only  child." 


"REAL"  FANCIES.  51 

"  The  big  ones  is  always  neely  at  school,  and 
Hal's  too  little  to  understand.  It's  Hal  that's 
tired  nie,  mamma  dear.  He  was  so  d'edfully 
cross  afore  nurse  put  him  to  bed." 

"  Cross,  was  he  V  said  mamma.  u  I'm  afraid 
he  must  be  getting  those  last  teeth.  He  may 
be  cross  for  some  time ;  if  so,  it  would  not  do 
to  leave  him."  She  seemed  to  be  speaking  to 
herself,  but  when  she  caught  side  of  Peggy's 
puzzled  face  she  stopped.  "  Tell  me  about 
Hal,  dear,"  she  went  on.  "  What  was  it  that 
tired  you  so  ?" 

"  I  was  trying  to  amuse  him  and  tell  him 
stories  about  my  white  cottage  up  on  the  hill, 
and  he  was  so  cross.  He  couldn't  understand, 
and  he  said  they  was  '  nonsense  '  stories." 

"  He  is  too  little,  perhaps,  to  care  for  fancies," 
said  her  mother  consolingly.  "  You  must  wait 
till  he  is  a  little  older,  Peggy  dear." 

"  But  when  he's  older  he'll  be  a  boy,  mam- 
ma," said  Peggy  ;  "  he'll  be  like  Thor  and  Terry, 
who  don't  care  for  things  like  that,  or  Baldwin, 
who  thinks  stories  stupid.  Oh,  mamma,  I  wish 
I  had  a  sister.  That's  what  I  want,"  she  added, 
with  conviction. 

Mamma  smiled. 

"  Poor  Peggy,"  she  said     "  I'm  afraid  it  can't 


52  LITTLE  MISS  PEOG Y. 

be  helped.  You  can  never  have  a  sister  near 
your  own  age,  and  I'm  afraid  a  baby  sister,  even 
if  you  had  one,  would  be  no  pood." 

"Oh,  no,  we've  had  enough  babies,"  said 
Peggy  decidedly.  "  But,  mamma,  mightn't 
there  be  some  little  girl  who'd  play  with  me 
like  a  sister  ?  If  there  is  a  fairy  living  in  that 
cottage,  mamma,  how  I  do  wish  she  would  find 
a  little  girl  for  me  !" 

Mamma  looked  a  very  little  bit  troubled. 

u  Peggy  dear,"  she  said,  "  you  mustn't  let 
your  fancies  run  away  with  you  too  far.  I  told 
you  they  would  do  you  no  harm  if  you  kept 
plain  in  your  head  that  they  were  fancies,  but 
you  mustn't  forget  that.  You  know  there 
couldn't  really  be  a  fairy  living  in  that  little 
white  cottage." 

"  No,"  Peggy  agreed,  "  I  know  that,  mamma, 
because  fairies  really  live  in  fairyland." 

She  looked  up  gravely  into  her  mother's 
face  as  she  said  so.  Mamma  could  not  help 
laughing. 

"Fairies,  really,"  she  said,  "live  in  Peggy's 
funny  little  head,  and  in  many  other  funny  little 
heads,  I  have  no  doubt.     But  nowhere " 

"  Mamma,  mamma,"  Peggy  interrupted,  put- 
ting her  fingers  in  her  ears  as  she  spoke,  "  I 


n^ma  cuar,    5  hi  Wan,  wi 
you.  till  mj   whaf  fkt  liftlfc 
Vvhife  hou5*  is*  ru\y  /ik,  ttan? 
If  you  will,  I'll  promts*  not" 
to  rfiink  fhxrss  f&irio  ffuri 

—  only 

Only  wkaf,  d^r  ?  :> 
If   you  donf*  mind,  said 
P&££y.  V£fy  anxious  not  to 
^kurt  hir  motlnirs  fulin^s, 
lei  rathtr  not   h«\vx.  pigs.  J 
i|  don'f  think  I  kki  f^igs 


"REAL  "  FANCIES.  53 

won't  listen.     You  mustn't,  mustn't  say  that.  I 
must  have  my  fairies,  mamma.    I've  no  sisters." 

"  Well,  keep  them  in  fairyland,  then,  or  at 
least  only  let  them  out  for  visits  now  and  then. 
But  don't  mix  them  up  with  real  things  too 
much,  or  you  will  get  quite  a  confusion,  and 
never  be  sure  if  you're  awake  or  dreaming." 

Peggy  seemed  to  consider  this  over  very 
seriously.  After  a  minute  or  two  she  lifted  her 
face  again,  and  looked  straight  into  her 
mother's  with  her  earnest  gray  eyes. 

"  Mamma  dear,"  she  began,  "  will  you  tell  me 
what  the  little  white  house  is  reely  like,  then  ? 
If  you  will,  I'll  promise  not  to  think  there's 
fairies  there — only " 

"  Only  what,  dear  ?" 

"  If  you  don't  mind,"  said  Peggy,  very  anx- 
ious not  to  hurt  her  mother's  feelings,  "  I'd 
rather  not  have  pigs.  I  don't  think  I  like 
pigs  very  much." 

"  Well,  we  needn't  have  pigs,  then.  But  re- 
member I  can  only  i  fancy  '  it.  I've  never  seen 
that  particular  cottage,  you  see,  Peggy.  But  I 
have  seen  other  cottages  in  Brackenshire,  and 
so  I  can  fancy  what  it  most  likely  is.  You  see, 
there  are  different  kinds  of  fancying — there's 
fancying  that  is  all  fancy,  like  fairy  stories,  and 


54  LITTLE  MISS  PEQGY. 

there's  fancying  that  might  be  true  and  real, 
and  that  very  likely  is  true  and  real.  Do  you 
understand  V 

"  Yes,"  said  Peggy,  drawing  a  deep  breath. 
"Well,  mamma,  go  on  real-fancying,  please. 
What's  that  place  you've  been  at — Brat — what 

is  it  r 

" Brackenshire,"  mamma  re23lied.  "That's 
the  name  of  that  part  of  the  country  that  we 
see  far  off,  from  the  windows  upstairs." 

"  And  is  all  the  cottages  white  there,  and  is 
they  very  pretty  ?"  asked  Peggy  with  deep  in- 
terest.    "  Oh,  mamma,  do  tell  me,  quick." 

"I  don't  know  if  they're  all  white,  but  I 
think  they  are  mostly.  And  there  are  some 
pretty  and  some  ugly.  Of  course  it  depends  a 
good  deal  upon  the  people  that  live  in  them.  If 
they're  nice,  clean,  busy  people,  who  like  their 
house  to  be  neat  and  pretty,  and  work  hard  to 
keep  it  so,  of  course  it's  much  more  likely  to 
be  so  than  if  they  were  careless  and  lazy." 

"  Oh,"  said  Peggy,  clasping  her  hands.  "  I 
do  so  hope  my  cottage  has  nice  people  living 
in  it.  I  think  it  has,  don't  you,  mamma  ?  It 
looks  so  white." 

"  My  dear  Peggy,"  said  mamma,  smiling, 
"  we  can't  tell,  when  it's  so  far  away.  But  we 
may  hope  so." 


"REAL"  FANCIES.  55 

"  Yes,"  said  Peggy,  "  we'll  hope  so,  and  we'll 
think  so."  But  then  a  rather  puzzled  look 
came  over  her  face  again,  though  she  smiled 
too.  "  Mamma,"  she  went  on,  "  there's  such  a 
funny  thing  come  into  my  head,  only  I  don't 
know  quite  how  to  say  it.  I  think  that  the  far- 
away helps  to  make  it  pretty — why  is  far-away 
so  pretty,  mamma  ?" 

Mamma  smiled  again. 

"  I'm  afraid  I  can't  tell  you  why.  Wouldn't 
it  spoil  some  things  if  we  knew  the  why  of 
them,  little  Peggy  ?" 

Peggy  did  not  answer.  This  was  another 
new  thought  for  her,  and  rather  a  difficult  one. 
She  put  it  away  in  her  mind,  in  one  of  the 
rather  far-back  cupboards  there,  and  locked  it 
up,  to  think  about  it  afterward. 

"  Mamma,"  she  said  coaxingly,  "  I  want  you 
to  tell  me  a  real  fancy  about  the  cottage.  It 
will  be  so  nice  when  I  look  at  it  to  think  it's 
most  likely  reely  like  that." 

"  Well,  then,  let  us  see,"  mamma  began. 

u  Wait  just  one  minute,  mamma  dear,  till  I've 
shut  my  eyes.  First  I  must  get  the  bluey  hills 
and  the  white  spot  into  them,  and  then  I'll  shut 
them  and  see  what  you  tell.  Yes — that's  all 
right  now." 


56  LITTLE  MISS  PEGQ  Y. 

So  mamma  went  on. 

"  I  fancy  a  cottage  on  the  side  of  a  hill.  The 
cottage  is  white,  of  course,  and  the  hill  is  green. 
Not  very  green — a  kind  of  brown-green,  for 
the  grass  is  short  and  close,  nibbled  by  the 
sheep  and  cows  that  find  their  living  on  the 
hill  most  of  the  year.  The  cottage  is  very 
white,  for  last  summer  it  had  a  nice  wash  all 
over,  and  that  lasts  clean  a  good  while  in  the 
country.  There  is  a  little  low  wall  round  it 
shutting  it  in  from  the  hillside,  and  this  wall 
is  not  very  white,  though  it  once  was  so,  for  it 
is  covered  with  creeping  plants,  so  that  you 
can  scarcely  see  what  its  own  color  is.  At  the 
front  of  the  house  there  is  a  little  garden,  quite 
a  tiny  one — there  are  potatoes  and  gooseberry 
bushes  and  cabbages  at  one  side,  but  in  front 
of  them  are  some  nice  old-fashioned  flowers, 
and  at  the  other  side  there  are  strawberry 
plants,  and  behind  them  some  rose-bushes.  In 
summer  I  am  sure  there  will  be  some  pretty 
roses." 

"  Oh,  how  nice,"  said  Peggy  ;  "  go  on,  go  on, 
please." 

"  There  is  a  funny  little  wooden  shed  behind 
the  house,  leaning  agaiust  the  wall,  which  has 
a  door  big  enough  for  a  child  to  go  in  by,  or  a 


"BEAL  "  FANCIES.  57 

big  person  if  they  stooped  down  very  much, 
and  besides  this  it  has  a  very  little  door  in  the 
wall,  leading  on  to  the  hillside.  Can  you  guess 
what  the  shed  is  for,  Peggy,  and  what  the  tiny 
door  is  for  V 

Peggy  thought  and  thought,  but  her  country 
knowledge  was  but  scanty. 

"I  can't  think,"  she  said.  "It  couldn't 
be  for  pigs,  'cos  there  isn't  any  in  the  cot- 
tage. Nor  it  couldn't  be  for  cows,  'cos  cows  is 
so  big." 

"  What  should  you  say  to  cocks  and  hens, 
Peggy  ?  There  are  to  be  fresh  eggs  there,  aren't 
there  ?  And  chickens  sometimes.  I  rather 
think  they  take  eggs  and  chickens  to  market, 
don't  they  ?" 

"  Oh,  yes,  I'ra  sure  they  do.  How  stupid  I 
am  !  Of  course  the  little  wooden  house  is  for 
cocks  and  hens.  You're  making  it  lovelily, 
mamma.  What  is  it  like  inside,  and  who  lives 
in  it  ?     I  do  so  want  to  know." 

"  Inside  ?"  said  mamma.  "  I'm  almost  afraid 
you  might  be  disappointed,  Peggy,  if  you've 
never  been  in  a  real  cottage.  There  are  so 
many  that  look  very  pretty  outside  and  are  not 
at  all  pretty  inside.  But  at  least  we  may  think 
it  is  neat  and  clean.     There  are  only  two  rooms, 


58  LITTLE  MISS  PEGG  7. 

Peggy — a  kitchen  which  you  go  straight  into, 
and  another  room  which  opens  out  of  it.  The 
kitchen  is  very  bright  and  pleasant ;  there  is  a 
table  before  the  window  with  some  flower-pots 
on  it,  in  which  both  winter  and  summer  there 
are  plants  growing.  There  is  a  large  cupboard 
of  dark  old  wood  standing  against  the  wall, 
and  a  sort  of  sofa  that  is  called  a  settle,  with 
cushions  covered  with  red  cotton,  standing  near 
the  fireplace.  There  are  shelves,  too,  on  which 
stand  some  dishes  and  two  or  three  shining  pots 
and  pans ;  the  ugly  black  ones  are  kept  in  a 
little  back  kitchen  where  most  of  the  cooking 
is  done,  so  that  the  front  kitchen  should  be 
kept  as  nice  as  possible." 

uThat  makes  another  room,  mamma  dear. 
You  said  there  was  only  two." 

"  Oh,  but  it's  so  very  tiny  you  couldn't  call 
it  a  room.  The  second  room  is  a  bedroom,  but 
the  best  pieces  of  furniture  are  kept  there. 
There  is  a  nice  chest  of  drawers  and  a  rocking- 
chair,  and  there  is  a  very  funny  wooden  cradle, 
standing  right  down  on  the  floor,  not  at  all  like 
baby's  cot.  And  in  this  cradle  is  a  nice,  fat, 
bright-eyed  little  baby." 

"  A  baby,"  said  Peggy  doubtfully. 

"  Yes,  to  be  sure.     There's  always  a  baby  in 


"BEAL"   FANCIES.  59 

a  cottage,  unless  you'd  rather  have  a  very  old 
couple  whose  babies  are  grown-up  men  and 
women,  out  in  the  world." 

"  ]STo,"  said  Peggy,  "  I  don't  want  that.  A 
very  old  woman  in  a  cottage  would  be  razzer 
like  a  witch,  or  else  it  could  make  me  think  of 
Keel  Hiding  Hood's  grandmother,  and  that  is  so 
sad.  No,  I  don't  mind  the  baby  if  it  has  a  nice 
mamma — but  only  one  baby,  pelease,  mamma 
dear.  I  don't  want  lots,  like  the  children  at 
the  back ;  they're  always  tumbling  about  and 
sc'eaniins;  so." 

"  Oh,  no,  we  won't  have  it  like  that.  We'll 
only  have  one  baby — a  very  contented,  nice 
baby,  and  its  mamma  is  very  nice  too.  She's 
got  quite  a  pretty  rosy  face,  and  she  stands  at 
the  door  every  morning  to  see  her  husband  go 
off  to  his  work,  and  every  evening  to  watch  for 
him  coming  back  again,  and  she  holds  the  baby 
up  in  her  arms  and  it  laughs  and  crows." 

"Yes,"  said  Peggy,  "that'll  do.  And  the 
eggs  and  the  chickens,  mamma  ?" 

"  Oh,  yes,  she  takes  great  care  of  the  cocks 
and  hens,  and  never  forgets  to  go  outside  the 
garden  to  feed  them  on  the  hill,  and  in  the 
evening  they  all  come  home  of  themselves 
through  the  little  door  in  the  wall.     There's  a 


60  LITTLE  MISS  PEGG  Y. 

very  nice  cat  in  the  cottage  too ;  it  sits  purring 
on  the  front  steps  on  fine  clays,  as  if  it  thought 
the  cottage  and  garden  and  everything  else  be- 
longed to  it.     And " 

But  suddenly  the  clock  struck.  Up  started 
nianinia. 

"  Peggy,  darling,  I  had  no  idea  it  was  so  late. 
And  I  have  to  go  out  the  moment  after 
luncheon,  and  I  have  still  two  letters  to  write. 
I  am  a  greater  baby  than  any  of  you  !  Run  off, 
dear,  and  tell  nurse  I  want  to  speak  to  her 
before  I  go  out." 

"  And  to-morrow,"  said  Peggy,  "  to-morrow, 
will  you  tell  me  some  more  about  the  white 
cottage,  mamnia  ?  It  is  so  nice — I  don't  think 
you're  a  baby  at  all,  mamnia.  A  baby  couldn't 
make  it  up  so  lovelily." 

And  Peggy  set  off  upstairs  in  great  content. 
The  white  spot  would  gave  her  more  pleasure 
than  ever,  now  that  she  knew  what  sort  of  real 
fancies  to  have  about  it. 

"  And  to-morrow,"  she  said  to  herself,  "  to- 
morrow mamma  will  tell  me  more,  lots  more. 
If  I  say  my  lessons  very  goodly,  p'r'aps  mamma 
will  tell  me  some  more  every  day.  And  p'r'aps 
Hallie  would  like  those  kinds  better  than  about 
fairies,  and  wouldn't  call  them  nonsense 
stories." 


"REAL"  FANCIES  61 

Poor  little  Peggy — "to-morrow"  brought 
news  which  put  her  pretty  fancies  about  the 
white  cottage  out  of  her  head  for  awhile. 

She  gave  her  mother's  message  to  nurse,  and 
after  dinner  nurse  went  downstairs.  When 
she  came  up  again  she  looked  rather  grave,  and 
Peggy  thought  perhaps  she  was  unhappy  about 
Hal,  who  was  still  cross  and  had  bright  red 
spots  on  his  cheeks. 

"  Does  you  think  poor  Hallie  is  ill,  nurse  ?" 
asked  Peggy  in  a  low  voice,  for  Hal  not  to 
hear. 

"  No,  my  dear,  it's  only  his  teeth.  But  they'll 
make  him  fractious  for  awhile,  I'm  afraid,  and 
he's  not  a  very  strong  child,  not  near  so  strong 
as  baby  and  the  big  boys." 

"  Poor  Hallie,"  said-  Peggy,  with  great  sym- 
pathy. "  I'll  be  very  good  to  him  even  if 
he  is  very  cross,  nurse." 

Nurse  did  not  answer  for  a  minute,  and  she 
still  looked  very  grave. 

"  Why  do  you  look  so  sad,  nurse,  if  it  isn't 
about  Hal  ?"  asked  Peggy  impatiently. 

"Did  I  look  sad,  Miss  Peggy?  I  didn't 
know  it.  I  was  thinking  about  some  things 
your  mamma  was  speaking  of  to  me." 

"  Oh  !"    said  Peggy,  "  was  it  about  our  new 


62  LITTLE  MISS  PEGGY. 

frocks  ?     Mamma  and  you  is  always  very  busy 
when  we  need  new  frocks,  I  know." 

"  Yes,  dear,"  said  nurse,  but  that  was  all. 

Then  Peggy  and  Hal  and  nurse  and  baby 
went  out  for  a  walk.  They  did  not  go  very 
far,  for  it  was  what  nurse  called  a  queer- 
tempered  day.  Between  the  gleams  of  blue 
sky  and  sunshine  there  came  sharp  little  storms 
and  showers.  It  was  April  weather,  though 
April  had  not  yet  begun. 

"  Which  way  are  we  going  ?"  Peggy  asked 
as  they  set  off,  she  and  Hal  hand  in  hand,  just 
in  front  of  nurse  and  the  perambulator.  She 
hoped  nurse  would  say  "  up  Fernley  Road," 
because  Fernley  Road  led  straight  on  toward 
the  hills — so  at  least  it  seemed  to  Peggy. 
Their  street  ran  into  Fernley  Road  at  one  end, 
so  that  Fernley  Road  was  what  is  called  at 
right  angles  with  it,  and  Peggy  felt  sure  that 
if  you  walked  far  enough  along  the  road  you 
could  not  but  come  to  "  the  beginning  of  the 
hills." 

But  to-day  Peggy  was  to  be  disappointed. 

"  We  can't  go  far,  Miss  Peggy,  and  we  must 
go  to  Field's  about  Master  Hal's  new  boots.  It 
looks  as  if  it  might  rain,  so  perhaps  we'd  better 
go   straight  there.     You  know  the  way,  Miss 


"REAL  "  FANCIES.  63 

Peggy  ?  right  on  to  the  end  of  this  street  and 
then  turn  to  the  left." 

Peggy  gave  a  little  sigh,  but  trotted  on 
quietly.     Hal  began  grumbling. 

"  What  is  I  to  have  new  boots  for  ?"  he  said. 
"  I  doesn't  want  new  boots." 

"  Oh,  Hal,"  said  Peggy,  "  I  think  it's  very 
nice  indeed  to  have  new  boots.  They  shine  so, 
and  sometimes  they  do  make  such  a  lovely 
squeaking." 

But  Hal  wasn't  in  a  humor  to  be  pleased 
with  anything,  so  Peggy  tried  to  change  the 
subject. 

"  Nurse  says  we  are  to  turn  to  the  left  at  the 
end  of  this  street,"  she  said.  "  Does  you  know 
which  is  the  left,  Hal  ?  I  do,  'cos  of  my  pocket 
in  my  frock.  First  I  feel  for  my  pocket,  and 
when  it's  there  I  say  '  all  right,'  and  then  I 
know  that's  the  right,  and  when  it  isn't  there  I 
can't  say  '  all  right,'  and  so  I  know  the  side  it 
isn't  at  is  the  left." 

Hal  listened  with  some  interest,  but  a  slight 
tinge  of  contempt  for  feminine  garments. 

"  Boys  has  pockets  at  each  sides,  so  all  boys' 
sides  is  right,"  he  said. 

But  Peggy  was  by  this  time  in  the  midst  of 
her  researches  for  her  pocket,  so  she  did  not 
argue  the  point. 


64  LITTLE  MUSS  PEGGY. 

"  Here  it  is  !"  slie  exclaimed ;  "  all  right,  so 
the  notlier  side  is  left.  This  way,  Hallie,"  and 
very  proud  to  show  nurse  that  she  had  under- 
stood her  directions,  she  led  her  little  brother 
down  the  street  into  which  they  had  now 
turned. 

There  were  shops  in  this  street,  which  made 
it  more  amusing  than  the  one  in  which  the 
children  lived,  even  though  they  had  seen  them 
so  often  that  they  knew  pretty  well  all  that 
was  worth  looking  at  in  the  windows — that  is 
to  say,  in  the  picture-shops  and  the  toy-shops, 
and  perhaps  in  the  confectioner's.  All  others 
were  passed  by  as  a  matter  of  course.  Field's, 
the  shoemaker's,  was  not  quite  so  stupid  as 
some,  because  under  a  glass  shade,  in  the  midst 
of  all  the  real  boots  and  shoes,  were  half  a  dozen 
pairs  of  dolls'  ones,  which  Peggy  thought  quite 
lovely,  though  apparently  no  one  else  was  of 
her  opinion,  as  the  tiny  things  stayed  there  day 
after  day  without  a  single  pair  being  sold. 
Peggy  herself  could  remember  them  for  what 
seemed  to  her  a  very  long  time,  and  Baldwin, 
who  owned  to  having  admired  them  when  he 
was  "  little,"  assured  her  they  had  been  there 
since  she  was  quite  a  baby  ;  he  could  remember 
having   "  run   on  "  to  look  at  them  in  the  days 


"BEAL  "  FANCIES.  65 

when  lie  and  Terry  had  trotted  in  front  and 
nurse  had  perambulated  Peggy  behind. 

The  little  boots  and  shoes  came  into  Peggy's 
mind  just  now,  partly  perhaps  because  Hal 
was  hanging  back  so,  and  she  was  afraid  he 
would  be  cross  if  she  asked  him  to  walk 
quicker. 

"  Let's  run  on  and  look  at  the  tiny  shoes  in 
Field's  window,"  she  said.  "We  can  wait 
there  till  nurse  comes  up  to  us.  She'll  see 
us." 

This  roused  Hal  to  bestir  himself,  and  they 
were  soon  at  the  shoemaker's. 

"  Isn't  they  sweet  ?"  said  Peggy.  "  If  I  had 
a  gold  pound  of  my  very  own,  Hal,  I'd  buy 
some  of  them." 

"  Would  you  ?"  said  Hal  doubtfully.  "  No, 
if  I  had  a  gold  pound  I'd " 

But  just  then  nurse  came  up  to  them  and 
they  were  all  marched  into  the  shop. 


66  LITTLE  MISS  PEGG  Y. 


CHAPTEK  V. 

THE    LITTLE    RED    SHOES. 

"  Pif-paf  Pottrie,  what  trade  are  you?     Are  yon  a 

tailor?" 
"  Better  still!"     "  A  shoemaker?" 

— Beothees  Grimm. 

There  was  another  reason  why  the  children 
liked  Field's  shop.  At  the  back  of  it  was  a 
sort  of  little  room  railed  off  by  a  low  wooden 
partition  with  curtains  at  the  top,  into  which 
customers  were  shown  to  try  on  and  be  fitted 
with  new  boots  or  shoes.  This  little  room 
within  a  room  had  always  greatly  taken  Peggy's 
fancy ;  she  had  often  talked  it  over  with  her 
brothers,  and  wished  they  could  copy  it  in 
their  nursery.  Inside  it  had  comfortable 
cushioned  seats  all  round,  making  it  look  like 
one  of  the  large,  square,  cushioned  pews  still 
to  be  found  in  some  old  churches,  pews  which 
all  children  who  have  ever  sat  in  them  dearly 
love. 


THE  LITTLE  RED  SHOES.  67 

There  was  always  some  excitement  in  peep- 
ing into  this  little  room  to  see  if  any  one  was 
already  there ;  if  that  were  the  case  the  chil- 
dren knew  they  should  have  to  be  "  tried  on  " 
in  the  outer  shop.  To-day,  however,  there  was 
no  doubt  about  the  matter — Miss  Field,  who 
acted  as  her  father's  shop- woman,  marshaled 
them  all  straight  into  the  curtained  recess  with- 
out delay  ;  there  was  no  one  there — and  when 
Peggy  and  Hal  had  with  some  difficulty  twisted 
themselves  on  to  the  seats  with  as  much  for- 
mality as  if  they  were  settling  themselves  in 
church,  and  nurse  had  explained  what  they 
had  come  for,  the  girl  began  operations  by 
taking  off  one  of  Hal's  boots  to  serve  as  a  pat- 
tern for  his  size. 

"  The  same  make  as  these,  I  suppose  ?"  she 
asked. 

"  No,  miss,  a  little  thicker,  I  think.  They're 
to  be  good  strong  ones  for  country  wear,"  said 
nurse. 

Peggy  looked  up  with  surprise. 

"  For  the  country,  nursie,"  she  said.  "  He'll 
have  weared  them  out  before  it's  time  for  us 
to  go  to  the  country.  It  won't  be  summer  for 
a  long  while,  and  last  year  we  didn't  go  even 
when  summer  corned." 


68  LITTLE  MISS  PEGGY. 

Nurse  looked  a  little  vexed.  Miss  Field, 
though  smiling  and  good-natured,  was  not  a 
special  favorite  of  nurse's ;  she  was  too  fond  of 
talking,  and  she  stood  there  now  looking  very 
much  amused  at  Peggy's  remonstrance. 

"  If  you  didn't  go  to  the  country  last  year, 
Miss  Margaret,"  said  nurse,  "  mure  reason  that 
you'll  go  this.  But  little  girls  can't  know 
everything." 

Peggy  opened  her  eyes  and  her  mouth.  She 
was  just  going  to  ask  nurse  what  was  the  mat- 
ter, which  would  not  have  made  things  better, 
I  am  afraid,  when  baby  changed  the  subject  by 
bursting  out  crying.  Poor  baby — he  did  not 
like  the  little  curtained-off  room  at  all ;  it  was 
rather  dark,  and  he  felt  frightened,  and  as  was 
of  course  the  most  sensible  thing  to  do  under 
the  circumstances,  as  he  could  not  speak,  he 
cried. 

"  Dear,  dear,"  said  nurse,  after  vainly  trying 
to  soothe  him,  "  he  doesn't  like  being  in  here, 
the  poor  lamb.  He's  frightened.  I'll  never 
get  him  quiet  here.  Miss  Peggy,  love,"  for- 
getting in  her  hurry  the  presence  of  Miss 
Field,  for  before  strangers  Peggy  was  always 
"  Miss  Margaret,"  with  nurse,  "  I'll  have  to 
put  him  back  in  his  perambulator  at  the  door, 


THE  LITTLE  RED  SHOES.  69 

and  if  you'll  stand  beside  Mm  he'll  be  quite 
content." 

And  nurse  got  up  as  she  spoke.  Peggy  slid 
herself  clown  slowly  and  reluctantly  from  her 
seat ;  she  would  have  liked  to  stay  and  watch 
Hal  being  fitted  with  boots,  and  she  would 
have  liked  still  more  to  ask  nurse  what  she 
meant  by  speaking  of  the  country  so  long  be- 
fore the  time,  but  it  was  Peggy's  habit  to  do 
what  she  was  told  without  delay,  and  she  knew 
she  could  ask  nurse  what  she  wanted  after- 
ward. So  with  one  regretful  look  back  at  the 
snug  corner  where  Hal  was  sitting  comfort- 
ably staring  at  his  stockinged  toes,  she  trotted 
across  the  shop  to  the  door  where  baby,  quite 
restored  to  good  humor,  was  being  settled  in 
his  carriage. 

"  There  now,  he'll  be  quite  happy.  Nurse 
will  come  soon,  dear.  Just  let  him  stay  here 
in  the  doorway  ;  he  can  see  all  the  boots  and 
shoes  in  the  window — that  will  amuse  him." 

"  Yes,"  said  Peggy,  adding  in  her  own  mind 
that  she  would  have  a  good  look  at  the  dear, 
tiny  dolls'  ones  and  fix  which  she  would  like  to 
buy  if  she  had  the  money. 

Baby  did  not  interrupt  her  ;  he  was  quite 
content  now  he  was  out  in  the  light  and  the 


70  LITTLE  MISS  PEOG  Y. 

open  air,  and  amused  himself  after  his  own 
fashion  by  crowing  and  chuckling  to  the  pass- 
ers-by. So  Peggy  stood  still,  her  eyes  fixed 
on  the  baby  shoes.  They  were  of  all  colors, 
black  and  red  and  bronze  and  blue — it  was 
difficult  to  say  which  were  the  prettiest. 
Peggy  had  almost  decided  upon  a  red  pair, 
and  was  wondering  how  much  money  it  would 
take  to  buy  them,  when  some  one  touched 
her  on  the  shoulder.  She  looked  up ;  a 
lady  was  standing  behind  her,  smiling  in 
amusement. 

"  What  are  you  gazing  at  so,  my  dear  ?  Is 
this  your  baby  in  the  perambulator  ?  You 
had  better  wheel  him  a  little  bit  further  back, 
or  may  I  do  so  for  you  \ — he  has  worked  him- 
self too  far  into  the  doorway." 

Peggy  looked  up  questioningly  in  the  lady's 
face.  Like  many  children,  she  did  not  like 
being  spoken  to  by  strangers  in  an  un- 
ceremonious way ;  she  felt  as  if  it  were  rather 
a  freedom. 

But  the  face  that  met  hers  was  too  kind  and 
bright  and  pleasant  to  resist,  and  though  Peggy 
still  looked  grave,  it  was  only  that  she  felt 
rather  shy. 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  "  he's  our  baby.     I  was  look- 


fjc\by  did  "not 
infer  rupf  Uir  ; 
nt.  was  cjuik  con; 
tint  now  V\i  was 
out  in  tk  I  icS  kP 
a  viol  tUi  obm  air, 
and  amiASsd  nim 


sdf  cNfttT  lais  own  Jaskion  by  crowing  and 
chuckling  to  iUi  pas5^r5-by.  So  P<^<fy 
Stood  sYA\9  Utr  tyis  {ixzd  on  Thl  baby  5ho£S. 
lkty  wlV£  of  all  colour,  black  z^nd  f^d  and 
taron7.£  and  bleu  —  if  wc\s  difficulf*  to  say 
\A/Kick    w2n5    tUt    hrittfLst 


THE  LITTLE  BED  SHOES.  71 

ing  at  those  sweet  little  shoes.  I  didn't  see 
baby  had  pushed  hisself  away.  Thank  you," 
as  the  lady  gently  moved  the  perambulator  a 
little  further  to  one  side. 

"  You  and  baby  are  not  alone  ?  Are  you 
waiting  for  some  one  ?"  she  asked. 

"  Nurse  is  having  Hal  tried  on  for  new 
boots,"  Peggy  replied,  "  and  baby  didn't  like 
the  shop  'cos  it  were  rather  dark." 

"  And  so  his  kind  little  sister  is  taking  care 
of  him.  I  see,"  said  the  lady.  "  And  what  are 
the  sweet  little  shoes  you  like  so  much  to  look 
at  ?     Are  they  some  that  would  fit  baby  ?" 

"  Oh,  no,"  said  Peggy,  "  they'd  be  too  little  for 
him.  Baby  is  rather  fat.  Oh,  no,  it's  those 
under  the  glass  basin  turned  upside  down,"  and 
she  pointed  to  the  dolls'  shoes.  "  Aren't  they 
lovely  ?  I've  seen  them  ever  since  I  was  quite 
little — I  suppose  they'd  cost  a  great  lot,"  and 
Peggy  sighed. 

"  Which  do  you  think  the  prettiest  ?"  asked 
the  lady. 

"  The  red  ones,"  Peggy  replied. 

"  Well,  I  almost  think  I  agree  with  you," 
said  the  lady.  "  Good -by,  my ;  dear  don't  let 
baby  run  himself  out  into  the  street."  And 
with  a  kind  smile  she  went  on  into  the  shop. 


72  LITTLE  MISS  PEGG T. 

She  passed  back  again  in  a  few  minutes. 

"  Still  there  T'  she  said,  nodding  to  Peggy, 
and  then  she  made  her  way  down  the  street 
and  was  soon  out  of  sight.  Peggy's  attention, 
since  the  lady  had  warned  her,  had  been 
entirely  given  to  baby,  otherwise  she  might 
perhaps  have  noticed  a  very  wonderful  thing 
that  had  happened  in  the  shop-window.  The 
pair  of  red  dolls'  shoes  was  no  longer  there  ! 
They  had  been  quietly  Avithdrawn  from  the 
case  in  which  they,  with  their  companions,  had 
spent  a  peaceful,  but  it  must  be  allowed  a 
rather  dull  life  for  some  years. 

In  another  minute  nurse  and  Hal  made  their 
appearance,  and  Hal  had  a  parcel,  which  he 
was  clutching  tightly  in  both  hands. 

"  My  new  boots  is  so  shiny,",  he  said,  "  I  do 
so  hope  they'll  squeak.  Does  you  think  they 
will,  nursie  ?  But  isn't  poor  Peggy  to  have 
new  boots,  too  ?     Poor  Peggy  !" 

Peggy  looked  down  at  her  feet. 

"  Mine  isn't  wored  out  yet,"  she  said  ;  "  it 
would  take  all  poor  mamma's  money  to  buy 
new  boots  for  us  all." 

"Never  fear,"  said  nurse,  who  heard  rather  a 
martyr  tone  in  Peggy's  voice,  "  you'll  not  be 
forgotten,  Miss  Peggy.    But,  Master  Hal,  hadn't 


THE  LITTLE  RED  SHOES.  73 

you  better  put  your  boots  in  the  perambulator  ? 
You'll  be  tired  of  carrying  them,  for  we're  not 
going  straight  home." 

Hal  looked  as  if  he  were  sroino:  to  grumble 
at  this,  but  before  he  had  time  to  say  anything, 
Miss  Field  came  hurrying  out  of  the  shop. 

"  Oh,  you're  still  here,"  she  said  ;  "  that's  all 
right.  The  lady  who's  just  left  told  father  to 
give  this  little  parcel  to  missie  here,"  and  she 
held  out  something  to  Peggy,  who  was  so  aston- 
ished that  for  a  moment  or  two  she  only  stared 
at  the  girl  without  offering  to  take  the  tiny 
packet. 

"  For  me  V  she  said  at  last. 

"  Yes,  missie,  to  be  sure — for  you,  as  I 
say." 

Peggy  took  the  parcel,  and  began  slowly  to 
undo  it.  Something  red  peeped  out — Peggy's 
eyes  glistened — then  her  cheeks  grew  nearly 
as  scarlet  as  the  contents  of  the  packet,  and  she 
seemed  to  gasp  for  breath  as  she  held  out  for 
Hal  and  nurse  to  see  the  little  red  shoes  which 
five  minutes  before  she  had  been  admiring  under 
the  glass  shade. 

"  Nursie,  Hal,"  she  exclaimed,  "  see,  oh,  see ! 
The  sweet  little  shoes — for  me — for  my  very 


74  LITTLE  MISS  PEGGY. 

Nurse  was  only  too  ready  to  be  pleased,  but 
with  the  prudence  of  a  "  grown-up  "  person  she 
hesitated  a  moment. 

"  Are  you  sure  there's  no  mistake,  miss  ?"  she 
said  anxiously.  "  Do  you  know  the  lady's 
name  ?     Is  she  a  friend  of  missis',  I  wonder  ?" 

The  girl  shook  her  head. 

"  Can't  say,  I'm  sure,"  she  replied.  "  She's 
a  stranger  to  us.  She  only  just  bought  a 
pair  of  cork  soles  and  these  here.  There's 
no  mistake,  that  I'm  sure  of.  She  must  have 
seen  the  young  lady  was  admiring  of  them." 

"Yes,"  said  Peggy,  "  she  asked  ire  which  was 
the  prettiest,  and  I  said  the  red  ones." 

"  You  see  !"  said  Miss  Field  to  nurse.  "  Well, 
missie,  I  hope  as  they'll  fit  Miss  Dolly,  and 
then  you'll  give  us  your  custom  when  they're 
worn  out,  won't  you  ?" 

And  with  a  good-natured  laugh  she  turned 
back  into  the  shop. 

"  It's  all  right,  nursie,  isn't  it  ?  Do  say  it  is. 
I  may  keep  them  ;  they  is  mine,  isn't  they  ?" 
said  Peggy,  in  very  unusual  excitement. 

Nurse  still  looked  undecided. 

"  I  don't  quite  know  what  to  say,  my  dear," 
she  replied.  "  We  must  ask  your  mamma.  I 
shouldn't  think  she'd  object,  seeing  as  it  was  so 


THE  LITTLE  RED  SHOES.  75 

kindly  meant.  And  we  can't  give  back  the 
shoes  now  they're  bought  and  paid  for.  It 
wouldn't  be  fair  to  the  lady  to  give  them  back 
to  Field  just  to  be  sold  again.  It  wasn't  him 
she  wanted  to  give  a  present  to." 

"  No,"  said  Peggy,  trotting  along  beside  the 
perambulator  and  clasping  her  little  parcel  as 
Hal  was  clasping  his  bigger  one,  "  it  was  me 
she  wanted  to  please.  She's  a  very  kind  lady, 
isn't  she,  nursie  ?  I'm  sure  they  cost  a  great 
lot  of  money — p'r'aps  a  pound.  Oh  !  I  do  so 
hope  mamma  will  say  I  may  keep  them  for  my 
very  own.  Can't  we  go  home  now  this  minute 
to  ask  her  ?" 

"  We  shouldn't  find  her  in  if  we  did,"  said 
nurse,  "  and  we've  had  nothing  of  a  walk  so  far. 
But  don't  you  worry,  Miss  Peggy.  I'm  sure 
your  mamma  will  not  mind." 

Peggy's  anxious,  eager  little  face  calmed  down 
at  this ;  a  corner  of  the  paper  in  which  her 
treasures  were  wrapped  up  was  torn.  She  saw 
the  scarlet  leather  peeping  out,  and  a  gleam  of 
delight  danced  out  of  her  eyes ;  she  bent  her 
head  down  and  kissed  the  speck  of  bright  color 
ecstatically,  murmuring  to  herself  as  she  did  so, 
"  Oh,  how  happy  I  am  !" 

Nurse  overheard  the  words. 


76  LITTLE  MISS  PEOG  7. 

"Missis  will  never  have  the  heart  to  take 
thera  from  her,  poor  dear,"  she  thought.  "  She'll 
be  only  too  pleased  for  Miss  Peggy  to  have 
something  to  cheer  her  up  when  she  has  to  be 
told  about  our  going." 

And  Peggy,  in  blissful  ignorance  of  any 
threatening  cloud  to  spoil  her  pleasure, 
marched  on,  scarcely  feeling  the  ground  be- 
neath her  feet ;  as  happy  as  if  the  tiny  red 
shoes  had  been  a  pair  of  fairy  ones  to  fit  her 
own  little  feet. 

Mamma  was  not  at  home  when  they  got  in, 
even  though  they  made  a  pretty  long  round, 
coming  back  by  Fernley  Road,  which,  how- 
ever, Peggy  did  not  care  about  as  much  as 
when  they  set  off  by  it.  For  coming  back,  of 
course  she  could  not  see  the  hills  without 
turning  round,  nor  could  she  have  the  feeling 
that  every  step  was  taking  her  nearer  to 
them.  The  weather  was  clearing  when  they 
came  in  ;  from  the  nursery  window  the  sky 
toward  the  west  had  a  faint  flush  upon  it, 
which  looked  as  if  the  sunset  were  going  to  be 
a  rosy  one. 

"  Red  at  night,"  Peggy  said  to  herself  as  she 
glanced  out ;  li  nursie,  that  means  a  fine  day, 
doesn't  it  ?" 


THE  LITTLE  BED  SHOES.  77 

"  So  they  say,"  nurse  replied. 

"  Then  it'll  be  a  fine  day  to-morrow,  and  I'll 
see  the  cottage,  and  I'll  put  the  little  shoes  on 
the  window-sill,  so  that  they  shall  see  it  too 
— the  dear  little  sweets,"  chattered  the  child  to 
herself. 

Hal  meanwhile  was  seated  on  the  floor,  en- 
gaged in  a  more  practical  way,  namely,  trying 
to  try  on  his  new  boots.  But  "  new  boots,"  as 
he  said  himself,  "  is  stiff."  Hal  pulled  and 
tugged  till  he  grew  very  red  in  the  face,  but 
all  in  vain. 

"  Oh,  Peggy  !"  he  said,  "  do  help  me.  I  does 
so  want  to  hear  them  squeak,  and  to  'upprise 
the  boys  when  they  come  in." 

Down  went  kind  Peggy  on  the  floor,  and 
thanks  to  her  the  boots  were  got  on,  though 
the  buttoning  of  them  was  beyond  her  skill. 
Hal  was  quite  happy,  though. 

"  They  do  squeak,  don't  they,  Peggy  ?"  he 
said  ;  "  and  nurse'll  let  me  wear  them  a  little 
for  them  to  get  used  to  my  feet  afore  we  go  to 
the  country." 

"  You  mean  for  your  feet  to  get  used  to 
them,  Hallie,"  said  Peggy.  "  But  there's  lots 
of  time  for  that.  Why,  they'll  be  half  wored 
out  before  we  go  to  the  country  if  you  begin 
them  now." 


78  LITTLE  MISS  PEOO  7. 

"  'Tisn't  nonsense,"  said  Hal  sturdily.  "  Nurse 
said  so  to  that  girl  in  the  shop." 

Peggy  felt  very  puzzled. 

"  But,  Hal,"  she  was  beginning,  when  a 
voice  interrupted  her.  It  was  nurse.  She  had 
been  downstairs,  having  heard  the  front-door 
bell  ring. 

"  Miss  Peggy,  your  mamma  wants  you.  She's 
come  in.     You'll  find  her  in  her  own  room." 

"  Nursie,"  she  said,  "  Hal's  been  saying " 

"  You  mustn't  keep  your  mamma  waiting," 
said  nurse.  "  I've  told  her  about  the  little 
shoes." 

"  I'll  take  them  to  show  her — won't  she  be 
pleased  ?"  said  Peggy,  seizing  her  little  parceJ 
which  she  had  put  down  while  helping  Hal. 

And  off  she  set. 

She  stopped  at  her  mother's  door ;  it  was 
only  half -shut,  so  she  did  not  need  to  knock. 

"  Mamma  dear,  it's  me — Peggy,"  she  said. 

"  Come  in,  darling,"  mamma's  voice  re- 
plied. 

u  I've  brought  you  the  sweet  little  red  shoes 
to  see,"  said  Peggy,  carefully  unfolding  the 
paper  which  held  her  treasures,  and  holding 
them  out  for  mamma's  admiration. 

"  They  are  very  pretty  indeed — really  lovely 


THE  LITTLE  RED  SHOES.  79 

little  shoes,"  she  said,  handling  them  with  care, 
but  so  as  to  see  them  thoroughly.  "It  was 
very  kind  of  that  lady.  I  wonder  who  she 
was  ?  Of  course  in  a  general  way  I  wouldn't 
like  yon  to  take  presents  from  strangers,  but 
she  must  have  done  it  in  such  a  very  nice  way. 
Was  she  an  old  lady,  Peggy  V 

"  Oh,  yes  !"  said  Peggy,  "  quite  old.  She 
was  neely  as  big  as  you,  mamma  dear.  I  dare 
say  she's  neely  as  old  as  you  are." 

Mamma  began  to  laugh. 

"You  little  goose,"  she  said.  But  Peggy 
didn't  see  anything  to  laugh  at  in  what  she  had 
said,  and  her  face  remained  quite  sober. 

"  I  don't  understand  you,  mamma  dear,"  she 
said. 

"  Well,  listen  then  ;  didn't  Hal  buy  a  pair  of 
new  boots  for  himself  to-day  ?"  mamma  began. 

"  No,  mamma  dear.  Nurse  buyecl  them  for 
he,"  Peggy  replied. 

"  Or  rather  I  bought  them,  for  it  was  my 
money  nurse  paid  for  them  with,  if  you  are  so 
very  precise,  Miss  Peggy.  But  never  mind 
about  that.  All  I  want  you  to  understand  is 
the  difference  between  '  biff  '  and  '  old.'  Hal's 
boots  are  much  bigger  than  these  tiny  things, 
but  they  are  not  on  that  account  older." 


SO  LITTLE  MISS  PEGGT. 

Peggy  began  to  laugh. 

"  No,  maixmia  dear.  P'r'aps  Hallie's  boots  is 
younger  than  my  sweet  little  red  shoes,  for 
they  has  been  a  great  long  while  in  the  shop- 
window,  and  Baldwin  and  Terry  sawed  them 
when  they  was  little." 

"  Not  i  younger,'  Peggy  dear ;  c  newer '  you 
mean.  Boots  aren't  alive.  You  only  speak  of 
live  things  as  l  young.'  " 

Peggy  sighed. 

"  It  is  rather  difficult  to  understand,  mamma 
dear." 

"  It  will  all  come  by  degrees,"  said  mamma. 
"  When  I  was  a  little  girl  I  know  I  thought  for 
a  long  time  that  the  moon  was  the  mamma  of 
the  stars  because  she  looked  so  much  bigger." 

"  I  think  that's  very  nice,  mamma,  though, 
of  course,  I  understand  it's  only  a  fancy  fancy. 
I  haven't  seen  the  moon  for  a  long  time,  mam- 
ma. May  I  ask  nurse  to  wake  me  up  the  next 
time  the  moon  comes  ?" 

"  You  needn't  wait  till  dark  to  seethe  moon," 
said  mamma.  "  She  can  often  be  seen  by  day- 
light, though,  of  course,  she  doesn't  look  so 
pretty  then  as  in  the  dark  sky,  which  shows 
her  off  better.  But,  of  course,  the  sky  here  is 
so  often  dull  with  the  smoke  of  the  town  that 


THE  LITTLE  RED  SHOES.  81 

we  can't  see  her  as  clearly  in  the  daytime  as 
where  the  air  is  purer." 

"  Like  in  the  country,  mamma,"  said  Peggy. 
"  It's  always  clear  in  the  country,  isn't  it  ?" 

"  Not  quite  always,"  said  mamma,  smiling. 
"  But,  Peggy  dear,  speaking  of  the  country " 

"  Oh,  yes  !"  Peggy  interrupted,  "  I  want  to 
tell  you,  mamma,  what  a  silly  thing  Hallie 
would  say  about  going  to  the  country;"  and 
she  told  her  mother  all  that  Hal  had  said  about 
his  boots,  and  indeed  what  nurse  had  said  too ; 
"  and  nursie  was  just  a  weeny,  teeny  bit  cross 
to  me,  mamma  dear,"  said  Peggy  plaintively. 
"  She  wouldn't  say  she'd  mistooked  about 
it." 

Mamma  looked  rather  grave,  and  instead  of 
saying  at  once  that  of  course  nurse  had  only 
meant  that  Hal's  boots  should  last  till  the 
summer,  she  took  Peggy  on  her  knee  and  kissed 
her — kissed  her  in  rather  a  "funny"  way, 
thought  Peggy,  so  that  she  looked  up  and 
said : 

"  Mamma  dear,  why  do  you  kiss  me  like 
that  ?" 

Instead  of  answering,  mamma  kissed  her 
again,  which  almost  made  Peggy  laugh. 

But  mamma  was  not  laughing. 


8%  LITTLE  MISS  PEGGY. 

"  My  own  little  Peggy,"  she  said,  "  I  have 
something  to  tell  you  which  I  am  afraid  will 
make  you  unhappy.  It  is  making  me  very  un- 
happy, I  know." 

"  Poor  dear  little  mamma,"  said  Peggy,  and 
as  she  spoke  she  put  up  her  little  hand  and 
stroked  her  mother's  face.  "  Don't  be  unhappy 
if  it  isn't  anything  very  bad.  Tell  Peggy  about 
it,  mamma  dear  " 


FELLOW-FEELINGS  AND  SLIPPEliS.  83 


CHAPTER  VI 

FELLOW- FEELINGS    AND    SLIPPERS. 

"  If  Fd  as  much  money  as  I  could  tell 
I  never  would  cry  '  old  clothes  to  sell  V  " 

— London  Cries. 

Mamma  hesitated  a  moment.  Then  she 
began. 

"  You  know,  Peggy,  my  pet,"  she  said,  "  for  a 
good  while  now  I  haven't  been  as  strong  and 
well  as  I  used  to  be " 

"  Stop,  mamma,  stop,"  said  Peggy,  with  a 
sort  of  cry,  and  as  she  spoke  she  threw  up  her 
hands  and  pressed  them  hard  against  her  ears. 
"  I  know  what  you're  going  to  say,  but  I  can't 
bear  it,  no,  I  can't.  Oh,  mamma,  you're  not  to 
say  you're  going  to  die." 

For  all  answer  mamma  caught  Peggy  into 
her  arms  and  kissed  her  again  and  again.  For 
a  minute  or  two  it  seemed  as  if  she  could  not 
speak,  but  at  last  she  got  her  voice.  And 
then,  rather  to  Peggy's  surprise,  she  saw  that 


84  LITTLE  MISS  PEGGT. 

although  there  were  tears  in  mamma's  eyes,  and 
even  one  or  two  trickling  down  her  face,  she 
was  smiling  too. 

"  My  darling  Peggy,"  she  said,  "  did  I 
frighten  you  ?  I  am  so,  so  sorry.  Oh,  no, 
darling,  it  is  nothing  like  that.  Please  God  I 
shall  live  to  see  my  Peggy  as  old  as  I  am  now, 
and  older,  I  hope.  No,  no,  dear,  it  is  nothing 
so  very  sad  I  was  going  to  tell  you.  It  is  only 
that  the  doctor  says  the  best  way  for  me  to  get 
quite  well  and  strong  again  is  to  go  away  for 
a  while  to  have  change  of  air  as  it  is  called,  in 
some  nice  country  place." 

"  In  the  country,"  said  Peggy,  her  eyes 
brightening  with  pleasure.  "  Oh,  how  nice  ! 
will  it  perhaps  be  that  country  where  my 
cottage  is  ?  Oh,  dear  mamma,  how  lovely  ! 
And  when  are  we  to  go  ?  May  we  begin 
packing  to-day  ?     And  how  could  you  think  it 

would   make   me  unhappy "  she  went  on, 

suddenly  remembering  what  her  mother  had 
said  at  first. 

Mamma's  face  did  not  brighten  up  at  all. 

«  Peggy  dear,  it  is  very  hard  for  me  to  tell 
you,"  she  said.  "  Of  course,  if  we  had  all  been 
going  together  it  would  have  been  only  happy. 
But   that's   just  the  thing.     I  can't  take  you 


FELL 0  W-  FEELINGS  AND  SLLPPERS.  85 

with  me,  my  sweet.  Baby  must  go,  because 
nurse  must,  and  Hallie  too.  But  the  friend  I 
am  going  to  stay  with  can't  have  more  of  us 
than  the  two  little  ones,  and  nurse,  and  me — it 
is  very,  very  good  of  her  to  take  so  many." 

"  Couldn't  I  sleep  with  you,  mamma  dear  V 
said  Peggy  in  a  queer  little  voice,  the  tone  of 
which  went  to  mamma's  heart. 

"  My  pet,  Hallie  must  sleep  with  me,  as  it  is. 
My  friend's  house  isn't  very  big.  And  there's 
another  reason  why  I  can't  take  you — I'm  not 
sure  if  you  could  understand -" 

"  Tell  it  me,  please,  mamma." 

"  The  lady  I  am  going  to  had  a  little  girl  just 
like  you — I  mean  just  the  same  age,  and  rather 
like  you  altogether,  I  think.  And  the  poor 
little  girl  died  two  years  ago,  Peggy.  Since 
then  it  is  a  pain  to  her  mother  to  see  other 
little  girls.  When  you  are  bigger  and  not  so 
like  what  her  little  girl  was,  I  dare  say  she 
won't  mind." 

Peggy  had  been  listening,  her  whole  soul  in 
her  eyes. 

"  I  understand,"  she  said.  "  I  wouldn't  like 
to  go  if  it  would  make  that  lady  cry — if  it  hadn't 
been  for  that — oh,  mamma,  I  could  have 
squeezed  myself  up  so  very  tight  in  the  bed  ! 


86  LITTLE  MISS  PEOO  T. 

You  and  Hallie  wouldn't  have  knowed  I  were 
there.  But  I  wouldn't  like  to  made  her  cry.  I 
am  so  sorry  about  that  little  girl.  Mamma, 
how  is  it  that  dying  is  so  nice,  about  going  to 
heaven,  you  know,  and  still  it  is  so  sorry  ?" 

"  There  is  the  parting,"  said  mamma. 

"  Yes — that  must  be  it.  And,  mamma,  I  hope 
it  isn't  naughty,  but  if  you  were  to  die  I'd  be 
very  sorry  not  to  see  you  again  just  the  same — 
even  if  you  were  to  be  a  very  pretty  angel,  with 
shiny  clothes  and  all  that,  I'd  want  you  to  be 
my  own  old  mamma." 

"  I  would  be  your  own  old  mamma,  dear.  I 
am  sure  you  would  feel  I  was  the  same." 

"  I'm  so  glad,"  said  Peggy.  "  Still  it  is  sad 
to  die,"  and  she  sighed.  "  Mamma  dear,  you 
won't  be  very  long  away,  will  you  ?  It'll  only 
be  a  little  short  parting,  won't  it  ?" 

"  Only  a  few  weeks,  dear.  And  I  hope  you 
won't  be  unhappy  even  though  you  must  be  a 
little  lonely." 

"If  only  I  had  a  sister,"  said  Peggy. 

But  mamma  went  on  to  tell  her  all  she  had 
planned.  Miss  Earnshaw,  a  dressmaker  who 
used  sometimes  to  come  and  sew,  was  to  be  with 
Peggy  as  much  as  she  could.  She  was  a  gentle, 
nice  girl,  and  Peggy  liked  her. 


FELLOW-FEELINGS  AND  SLIPPERS,  87 

"  She  lias  several  things  to  make  for  me  just 
now,"  said  mamma,  "  and  as  she  lives  near,  she 
will  try  to  come  every  day,  so  that  she  will  be 
with  you  at  dinner  and  tea.  And  Fanny  will 
help  you  to  dress  and  undress,  and  either  she 
or  Miss  Earnshaw  will  take  you  a  walk  every 
day  that  it  is  fine  enough.  And  then  in  the 
evenings,  of  course,  the  boys  will  be  at  home, 
and  papa  will  see  you  every  morning  before  he 
goes." 

u  And  I  dare  say  he'll  come  up  to  see  me  in 
bed  at  night  too,"  said  Peggy.  Then  she  was 
silent  for  a  minute  or  two  ;  the  truth  was,  I 
think,  that  she  was  trying  hard  to  swallow 
down  a  lump  in  her  throat  that  would  come, 
and  to  blink  away  two  or  three  tiresome  tears 
that  kept  creeping  up  to  her  eyes. 

Two  days  later  and  they  were  gone.  Mam- 
ma, nurse,  Hal,  and  baby,  with  papa  to  see 
them  off,  and  two  boxes  outside  the  cab,  and  of 
course  a  whole  lot  of  smaller  packages  inside. 
Peggy  stood  at  the  front  door,  nodding  and 
kissing  her  hand  and  making  a  smile,  as  broad 
a  one  as  she  possibly  could,  to  show  that  she 
was  not  crying. 

When  they  were  gone,  really  gone,  and 
Fanny  had  shut  the  door,  she  turned  kindly  to 


88  LITTLE  MISS  PEGG  Y. 

"  Now,  Miss  Peggy,  love,  what  will  you  do  ? 
Miss  Earnshaw  won't  be  here  till  to-morrow. 
I'll  try  to  be  ready  so  as  to  take  you  out  this 
afternoon  if  it's  fine,  for  it's  not  a  half-holiday. 
It'd  be  very  dull  for  you  all  day  alone — to- 
morrow the  young  gentlemen  will  be  at  home, 
as  it's  Saturday." 

A  bright  idea  struck  Peggy. 

"  Fanny,"  she  said,  "  did  mamma  or  nurse  say 
anything  about  soap-bubbles  T 

Fanny  shook  her  head. 

"  No,  miss.  But  I'm  sure  there'd  be  no  ob- 
jection to  your  playing  at  them  if  you  liked.  I 
can  easy  get  a  little  basin  and  some  soap  and 
water  for  you.     But  have  you  a  pipe  ?" 

Peggy  shook  her  head. 

"  It  isn't  for  me,  Fanny,  thank  you,"  she 
said.  "  It's  for  my  brothers  most.  I'd  like 
to  make  a  surprise  for  them,  while  mamma's 
away." 

"  Yes,  that  would  be  very  nice,"  said  Fanny, 
who  had  been  charged  at  all  costs  to  make 
Peggy  happy.  "  We'll  talk  about  it.  But  I'd 
better  get  on  with  my  work,  so  as  to  get  out 
a  bit  this  afternoon." 

"  Very  well.  I'll  go  up  to  the  nursery,"  said 
the  little  girl. 


FELLOW-FEELINGS  AND  SLIPPERS.  89 

The  nursery  seemed  very  strange.  Peggy 
had  never  seen  it  look  quite  so  empty.  Not 
only  were  nurse  and  the  little  ones  gone,  but  it 
seemed  as  if  everything  belonging  to  them  had 
gone  too,  for  nurse  had  sat  up  late  the  night 
before  and  got  up  very  early  the  same  morning 
to  put  everything  into  perfect  order  before 
leaving;  The  tidiness  was  quite  unnatural. 
Peggy  sat  down  in  a  corner  and  gave  a  deep 
sigh.  Just  then  she  did  not  even  care  to  turn 
to  the  window,  where  the  sunshine  was  pouring 
in  brightly,  sparkling  on  the  two  little  scarlet 
shoes,  standing  side  by  side  on  the  sill,  where 
Peggy  placed  them  every  fine  morning,  that 
they  might  enjoy  the  sight  of  the  white  cottage 
on  the  hill ! 

"  I  almost  wish  it  was  raining,"  she  half- 
whispered  to  herself,  till  she  remembered  how 
very  disagreeable  a  wet  day  would  have  been 
for  mamma  and  the  others  to  travel  on.  "I 
hope  it  will  be  a  sunny  day  when  they  come 
back,"  she  added  as  a  sort  of  make-up  for  her 
forgetfulness. 

And  then  she  got  up  and  wandered  into  the 
other  room.  Here  one  of  Hal's  old  shoes, 
which  had  fallen  out  of  a  bundle  of  things  to 
be   given  away  which  nurse  had  taken  down- 


90  LITTLE  MISS  PEGO  Y. 

stairs  just  before  going,  was  lying  on  the  floor. 
Peggy  stooped  and  picked  it  np.  How  well 
she  knew  the  look  of  Hal's  shoes ;  there  was 
the  round  bump  of  his  big  toe,  and  the  hole  at 
the  corner  where  a  bit  of  his  red  sock  nsed  to 
peep  out  !  It  gave  her  a  strange  dreamy  feel- 
ing as  she  looked  at  it.  It  seemed  as  if  it  could 
not  be  true  that  Hallie  was  far  away — "  far, 
far  away  "  by  this  time,  thought  Peggy,  for  she 
always  felt  as  if  the  moment  people  were  in  the 
railway  they  were  whizzed  off  hundreds  of 
miles  in  an  instant.  She  stroked  the  poor  old 
shoe  lovingly  and  kissed  it.  I  don't  think  just 
then  she  would  have  parted  with  it  for  any- 
thing ;  it  would  have  cost  her  less  to  give  away 
the  lovely  little  scarlet  ones. 

The  thought  of  the  old  clothes  turned  her 
mind  to  the  children  at  the  back. 

"  I  wonder  if  nurse  gave  them  any  of  Hal's 
and  baby's  old  things,"  she  said  to  herself. 

And  she  went  to  the  window  with  a  vague 
idea  of  looking  to  see.  She  had  not  watched 
the  Smileys  or  their  relations  much  for  some 
days  ;  she  had  been  busy  helping  mamma  and 
nurse  in  various  little  ways,  and  her  mind  had 
been  very  full  of  the  going  away.  She  almost 
felt  as  if  she  had  neglected  her  opposite  neigh- 


FELLOW-FEELINGS  AND  SLIPPERS.  91 

bors,  though,  of  course,  they  knew  nothing 
about  it,  and  she  was  quite  pleased  to  see  them 
all  there  as  usual,  or  even  more  than  usual.  For 
it  was  so  fine  a  day  that  Reddy  and  her  mother 
were  evidently  having  a  grand  turn-out — a  sort 
of  spring  cleaning,  I  suppose. 

Small  pieces  of  carpet,  and  one  or  two  mats, 
much  the  worse  for  wear,  were  hanging  out  at 
the  open  windows.  Reddy's  head,  tied  up  in 
a  cloth  to  keep  the  dust  out  of  her  hair,  was  to 
be  seen  every  minute  or  two  as  she  thumped 
about  with  a  long  broom,  and  Mary-Hann 
presently  appeared  with  a  pail  of  soapy  water 
which  she  emptied  at  a  grid  in  the  gutter. 
Mary-Hann  looked  rather  depressed,  but  Red- 
dy's spirits  were  fully  equal  to  the  occasion. 
Had  the  window  been  open,  Peggy  felt  sure 
she  would  have  been  able  to  hear  her  shout- 
ing to  her  sister  to  "  look  sharp,"  or  to  "  mind 
what  she  was  about,"  even  more  vigorously 
than  usual. 

The  rest  of  the  family,  excepting,  of  course, 
the  boys,  were  assembled  on  the  pavement  in 
front  of  Mr.  Crick  the  cobbler's  shop.  He  too 
had  opened  his  window  to  enjoy  the  fine  day, 
and  in  the  background  he  could  be  dimly  seen 
working,  as  dingy  and  leathery  as  ever.     Mrs. 


92  LITTLE  MISS  PEGGY. 

Whelan's  frilled  cap  and  pipe  looked  out  for  a 
moment  and  then  disappeared  again.  Appar- 
ently just  then  there  was  nobody  or  nothing 
she  could  scold. 

For  the  poor  children  on  the  pavement  were 
behaving  very  quietly.  The  Smileys  had  stayed 
at  home  from  school  to  mind  the  babies,  with 
a  view  to  smoothing  the  way  for  the  spring 
cleaning,  no  doubt,  and  were  sitting,  each  with 
a  child  on  her  lap,  in  two  little  old  chairs  they 
had  carried  down.  Crippley  was  rocking  her- 
self gently  in  her  chair  beside  them,  and  the 
last  baby  but  two,  as  Peggy  then  thought,  was 
on  his  knees  on  the  ground,  amusing  himself 
with  two  or  three  oyster  shells  and  a  few 
marbles.  All  these  particulars  Peggy,  from  her 
high-up  nursery  window,  could  not,  of  course, 
see  clearly,  but  she  saw  enough  to  make  her 
sigh  deeply  as  she  thought  that,  after  all,  the 
Smileys  were  much  to  be  envied. 

"  I  dare  say  they're  telling  theirselves 
stories,"  she  said  to  herself.  "They  look  so 
comfable." 

Just  then  the  big  baby  happened  to  come 
more  in  sight,  and  she  saw  that  one  of  the 
things  he  was  playing  with  was  a  little  shoe — 
an  odd  one  apparently.     He  had  filled  it  with 


FELLOW-FEELINGS  AND  SLIPPERS.  93 

marbles,  and  was  pulling  it  across  the  stones. 
Up  jumped  Peggy  from  her  seat  on  the  win- 
dow-sill. 

"  Oh  I"  she  exclaimed,  though  there  was  no 
one  to  hear,  "  it  must  be  the  nother  shoe  of  this. 
What  a  pity  !  They'd  do  for  Tip,  and  pVaps 
they've  thought  there  wasn't  a  nother.  How  I 
would  like  to  take  it  them.  I'll  call  Fanny  and 
see  if  she'll  run  across  with  it." 

Downstairs  she  went,  calling  Fanny  from 
time  to  time  as  she  journeyed.  But  no  Fanny 
replied ;  she  was  down  in  the  kitchen,  and  to 
the  kitchen  Peggy  knew  mamma  would  not  like 
her  to  go.  She  stood  at  last  in  the  passage 
wondering  what  to  do,  when,  glancing  round, 
she  noticed  that  the  back  door  opening  into  the 
yard  was  temptingly  open.  Peggy  peeped  out 
— there  was  no  one  there,  but,  still  more  tempt- 
ing, the  door  leading  into  the  small  back  street 
— the  door  just  opposite  the  Smiley  mansion — 
stood  open,  wide  open,  too,  and  even  from 
where  she  was  the  little  girl  could  catch  sight 
of  the  group  on  the  other  side  of  the  narrow 
street. 

She  trotted  across  the  yard,  and  stood  for  a 
minute,  the  shoe  in  her  hand,  gazing  at  the  six 
children.  The  sound  of  their  voices  reached 
her. 


94  LITTLE  MISS  PEGG  7. 

"  Haifred  is  quite  took  up  with  his  shoe," 
said  Brown  Smiley.  "  I  told  mother  she  moight 
as  well  give  it  he — a  hodd  shoe's  no  good  to 
nobody." 

"  'Tis  a  pity  there  wasn't  the  two  of  'em," 
said  Crippley,  in  a  thin,  rather  sqneaky  voice. 
"  They'd  a  done  bee-yutiful  for " 

"  For  Tip — yes,  that's  what  I  were  thinking," 
cried  an  eager  little  voice.  "  Here's  the  other 
shoe  ;  I've  just  founded  it." 

And  little  Peggy,  with  her  neat  hair  and 
clean  pinafore,  stood  in  the  middle  of  the  chil- 
dren holding  out  Hal's  slipper,  and  smiling  at 
them,  like  an  old  friend. 

For  a  moment  or  two  they  were  all  too 
astonished  to  speak  ;  they  could  scarcely  have 
stared  more  had  they  caught  sight  of  a  pair  of 
wings  on  her  shoulders,  by  means  of  which  she 
had  flown  down  from  the  sky. 

Then  Light  Smiley  nudged  Crippley,  and 
murmured  something  which  Peggy  could  not 
clearly  hear,  about  "th'  young  lady  hoppo- 
site." 

"Thank  you,  miss,"  then  said  Crippley,  not 
quite  knowing  what  to  say.  "  Here,  Haifred, 
you'll  have  to  find  summat  else  to  make  a 
carridge  of ;  give  us  the  shoe — there's  a  good 
boy." 


lor   17f>  -V£St  tfic\t  s  what  /  W£r*  th»*nkm£\" 
cmd   an  *c\££t*    litfjs.  voice.      Hm5  tUi  othtr 
shos. ;      I'v*   just  -foiAncUol  -if." 

y4nd    littlj   P^£^y,  wim  hir  nic\f  haiV  and 
clic\n  binz\foT£  ,    stood   in   thi   middf*.  of  fn£ 
ckildnn    holding   out    Hc\(  s    slifjbfcf,    and 
smilincT  &t  t"K*m 
likz;     an    old 
•friiJid 


FELLOW-FEELINGS  AND  SLIPPERS.  95 

Halfred  stopped  playing,  and  still  on  his 
knees  on  the  pavement  stared  up  suspiciously 
at  his  sister.  Brown  Smiley,  by  way  of  taking 
part  in  what  was  going  on,  swooped  down  over 
him  and  caught  up  the  shoe  before  he  saw  what 
she  was  doing,  cleverly  managing  to  hold  her 
baby  on  her  knee  all  the  same. 

"'Ere  it  be,"  she  said.  "  Sarah,  put  Florence 
on  Lizzie's  lap  for  a  minute,  and  run  you  up- 
stairs with  them  two  shoes  to  mother  They'll 
do  splendid  for  Tommy,  they  will.  And  thank 
the  young  lady." 

Sarah,  otherwise  Light  Smiley,  got  up 
obediently,  deposited  her  baby  on  Crippley's 
lap,  and  held  out  her  hand  to  Peggy  for  the 
other  shoe,  bobbing  as  she  did  so,  with  a 
"  Thank  you,  miss." 

Peggy  left  off  smiling  and  looked  rather 
puzzled. 

"  For  Tommy,"  she  repeated.  "  Who  is 
Tommy?  I  thought  they'd  do  for  Tip. 
I " 

It  was  now  the  sisters'  turn  to  stare,  but  they 
had  not  much  time  to  do  so,  for  Halfred,  who 
had  taken  all  this  time  to  arrive  at  the  knowl- 
edge that  his  new  plaything  had  been  taken 
from  him,  suddenly  burst  into  a  loud  howl — so 


96  LITTLE  MISS  PEGG  Y. 

loud,  so  deliberate  and  determined  that  Peggy 
stopped  short,  and  all  the  group  seemed  for  a 
moment  struck  dumb. 

Brown  Smiley  was  the  first  to  speak. 

"  Come,  now,  Halfred,"  she  said,  "  where's 
your  manners  ?  You'd  never  stop  Tommy  hav- 
ing a  nice  pair  o'  shoes." 

But  Halfred  continued  to  weep — he  gazed 
up  at  Peggy,  the  tears  streaming  ciown  his 
smutty  face,  his  mouth  wide  open,  howling 
hopelessly. 

"Poor  little  boy,"  said  Peggy,  looking  ready 
to  cry  herself.  "  I  wish  I'd  a  nother  old  shoe 
for  him." 

"  Bless  you,  miss,  he's  always  a-crying — 
there's  no  need  to  worry,"  said  Crippley,  whose 
real  name  wTas  Lizzie.  "  Take  him  in  with  you, 
Sarah,  and  tell  mother  he's  a  naughty  boy, 
that's  what  he  is,y  and  Light  Smiley  picked  him 
up  and  ran  off  with  him  in  such  a  hurry  that 
Peggy  stood  still  repeating  "  poor  little  boy," 
before  she  knew  what  had  become  of  him. 

Quiet  was  restored,  however.  Peggy,  hav- 
ing done  what  she  came  for,  should  have  gone 
home,  but  the  attractions  of  society  were  too 
much  for  her.  She  lingered — Crippley  pushed 
Sarah's  empty  chair  toward  her. 


FELLOW-FEELINGS  AND  SLIPPERS.  97 

"  Take  a  seat,  miss,"  she  said.  "  You'll  excuse 
me  not  gettin'  up.  Onst  I'm  a-sittin'  down, 
it's  not  so  heasy." 

Peggy  looked  at  her  with  great  interest. 

"  Does  it  hurt  much  ?"  she  asked. 

Lizzie  smiled  in  a  superior  way. 

"  Bless  you,"  she  said  again,  "  hurt's  no  word 
for  it.  It's  hall  over — but  it's  time  I  were 
used  to  it — never  mind  about  me,  missy.  I'm 
sure  it  was  most  obligin'  of  you  to  bring  the 
shoe,  but  won't  your  mamma  and  your  nurse 
scold  you  V 

"  My  mamma's  gone  away,  and  so  has  my 
nurse,"  said  Peggy.     "  I'm  all  alone." 

All  the  eyes  looked  up  with  sympathy. 

"  Deary  me,  who'd  a  thought  it  ?"  said  Brown 
Smiley.  "  But  there  must  be  somebody  to  do 
for  you,  miss." 

"  To  what  ?"  asked  Peggy.  "  Of  course 
there's  cook,  and  Fanny,  and  my  brothers,  and 
my  papa  when  he  comes  home." 

Brown  Smiley  looked  relieved.  She  was 
only  a  very  little  girl,  not  more  than  three 
years  older  than  Peggy  herself,  though  she 
seemed  so  much  more,  and  she  had  really 
thought  that  the  little  visitor  meant  to  say  she 
was  quite,  quite  by  herself. 


98  LITTLE  MISS  PEGG  T. 

"  Oh !"  she  said,  "  that's  not  being  real 
alone." 

"  But  it  is,"  persisted  Peggy.  "  It  is  very 
alone,  I  can  tell  you.  I've  nobody  to  play 
with,  and  nothing  to  do  'cept  to  look  out  of 
the  window  at  you  playing,  and  at  the  nother 
window  at " 

'•The  winder  to  the  front,"  said  Lizzie 
eagerly.  "  It  must  be  splendid  at  your  front, 
miss.  Father  told  me  oust  you  could  see  the 
'ills — ever  so  far  right  away  in  Brackenshire. 
Some  day  if  I  could  but  get  along  a  bit  better 
I'd  like  fine  to  go  round  to  your  front,  miss. 
I've  never  seed  a  'ill." 

Lizzie  was  quite  out  of  breath  with  excite- 
ment.    Peggy  answered  eagerly  : 

"  Oh,  I  do  wish  you  could  come  to  our  day 
nurseiy  window.  When  it's  fine  you  can  see 
the  mountings — that's  old,  no,  big  hills,  you 
know.  And — on  one  of  them  you  can  see  a 
white  cottage  ;  it  does  so  shine  in  the  sun." 

"  Bless  me,"  said  Lizzie,  and  both  the 
Smileys,  for  Sarah  had  come  back  by  now,  stood 
listening  with  open  mouths. 

"  Father's  from  Brackenshire,"  said  Light 
Smiley,  whose  real  name  was  Sarah.  She  spoke 
rather  timidly,  for   she   was  well  kept  in  her 


FELLOW-FEELINGS  AND  SLIPPERS  99 

place  by  her  four  elder  sisters.  For  a  wonder 
they  did  not  snub  her. 

"  Yes,  he  be,"  added  Matilda,  "  and  he's  told 
us  it's  bee-yutiful  over  there.  He  lived  in  a 
cottage,  he  did,  when  he  were  a  little  lad." 

"  Mebbe  'tis  father's  cottage  miss  sees  shin- 
ing," ventured  Sarah.  But  this  time  she  was 
not  so  lucky. 

"  Rubbish,  Sarah,"  said  Lizzie.  "  There's 
more'n  one  cottage  in  Brackenshire." 

"  And  there's  a  mamma  and  a  baby — and  a 
papa  who  goes  to  work,  in  my  cottage,"  said 

Peggy.     "  So  I  don't  think  it  could  be " 

But  here  she  grew  confused,  remembering  that 
all  about  the  white  cottage  was  only  fancy,  and 
that  besides  the  Smileys'  father  might  have 
lived  there  long  ago.  She  got  rather  red,  feel- 
ing somehow  as  if  it  was  not  very  kind  of  her 
not  to  like  the  idea  of  its  being  his  cottage. 
She  had  seen  him  once  or  twice  ;  he  looked  big 
and  rough,  and  his  clothes  were  old — she  could 
not  fancy  him  ever  having  lived  in  her  dainty 
white  house. 

Just  then  came  a  loud  voice  from  the  upper 
story,  demanding  Sarah. 

"Tis  Mother  Whelan,"  said  Brown  Smiley, 
starting  up.     "  Kebecca  said  as  how  I  was  to 


100  LITTLE  MISS  PEQG  F. 

run  of  an  errant  for  her.  It's  time  I  were 
off." 

Peggy  turned  to  go. 

"  I  must  go  home,"  she  said.  "  PVaps  I'll 
come  again  some  day.  If  mamma  was  at  home 
I'd  ask  her  if  you  mightn't  come  to  look  out  of 
the  nursery  window,"  she  added,  turning  to 
Lizzie. 

"  Bless  you,"  said  the  poor  girl,  "  I'd  never 
get  up  the  stairs  ;  thank  you  all  the  same." 

And  with  a  deep  sigh  of  regret  at  having  to 
leave  such  pleasant  company,  Peggy  ran  across 
the  street  home. 


A  BUN  10  1HE  GOOD,  101 


CHAPTER  VII. 

A    BUN    TO    THE    GOOD. 

"The  little  gift  from  out  our  store." 

The  yard  door  was  still  open ;  so  was  the 
house  door.  Peggy  met  no  one  as  she  ran 
in. 

"  Fanny's  upstairs,  p'r'aps,"  she  said  to  her- 
self. But  no,  she  saw  nothing  of  Fanny  either 
on  the  way  up  or  in  the  nursery.  She  did  not 
feel  dull  or  lonely  now,  however.  She  went  to 
the  back  window  and  stood  there  for  a  minute 
looking  at  Crippley  and  Light  Smiley,  who 
were  still  there  with  the  two  babies.  How 
funny  it  seemed  that  just  a  moment  or  two  ago 
she  had  been  down  there  actually  talking  to 
them  !  She  could  scarcely  believe  they  were 
the  very  same  children  whom  for  so  long  she 
had  known  by  sight, 

"  I  am  so  glad  I  found  the  shoe,"  thought 
Peggy.     "  I  wish,  oh,  1  do  wish  I  could  have  a 


103  LITTLE  MISS  PEGG  T. 

tea-party,  and  avite  them  all  to  tea.  I  dare 
say  the  father  could  carry  Crippley  upstairs — 
he's  a  very  big  man." 

The  thought  of  the  father  carried  her  thoughts 
to  Brackenskire  and  the  cottage  on  the  hill,  and 
she  went  into  the  day  nursery  to  look  if  the 
white  spot  was  still  to  be  seen.  Yes,  it  was 
very  bright  and  clear  in  the  sunshine.  Peggy 
gazed  at  it  while  a  smile  broke  over  her  grave 
little  face. 

"  How  I  do  wish  I  could  go  there,"  she 
thought.  "I  wonder  if  the  Smileys'  father 
amembers  about  when  he  was  a  little  boy, 
quite  well.  If  he  wasn't  such  a  nugly  man  we 
might  ask  him  to  tell  us  stories  about  it." 

Then  she  caught  sight  of  the  little  scarlet 
shoes  patiently  standing  on  the  window-still. 

"  Dear  little  shoes,"  she  said,  "  Peggy  was 
neely  forgetting  you,"  and  she  took  them  up 
and  kissed  them.  "  Next  time  I  go  to  see  the 
Smileys,"  she  thought,  "  I'll  take  the  red  shoes 
with  me  to  show  them.  They  will  be  pleased." 
Then  she  got  out  her  work  and  sat  down  to 
do  it,  placing  her  chair  where  she  could  see  the 
hills  from,  the  little  shoes  in  her  lap,  feeling 
quite  happy  and  contented.  It  seemed  but  a 
little  while  till  Fanny  came  up  to  lay  the  cloth 


A  BUN  TO  THE  GOOD.  103 

for  Peggy's  dinner.  She  had  been  working 
extra  hard  that  morning,  so  as  to  be  ready  for 
the  afternoon,  and  perhaps  her  head  was  a  little 
confused.  And  so  when  Peggy  began  telling 
her  her  adventures  she  did  not  listen  attentively, 
and  answered  "  yes  "  and  "  no  "  without  really 
knowing  what  she  was  saying. 

"  And  so  when  I  couldn't  find  you,  Fanny,  I 
just  runned  over  with  the  nother  shoe  myself. 
And  the  poor  little  boy  what  was  playing  with 
the — the  not  the  nother  one,  you  know,  did  so 
cry,  but  I  think  he  soon  left  off.  And  some  day 
I'm  going  to  ask  mamma  to  let  me  avite  them 
all  to  tea,  for  them  to  see  the  hills,  and  " — but 
here  Peggy  stopped — '  the  hills,  you  know, 
out  of  the  window." 

"  Yes,  dear  ;  very  nice,"  said  Fanny.  "  You've 
been  a  good  little  girl  to  amuse  yourself  so 
quietly  all  the  morning  and  to  give  no  trouble. 
I  do  wonder  if  the  washerwoman  knows  to  come 
for  the  nursery  things,  or  if  I  must  send,"  she 
went  on,  speaking,  though  aloud,  to  herself. 

So  Peggy  felt  perfectly  happy  about  all  she 
had  done,  not  indeed  that  she  had  had  the 
slightest  misgiving. 

The  afternoon  passed  very  pleasantly.  It 
was  quite  a  treat  to  Peggy  to  go  a  walk  in  a 


104  LITTLE  MISS  PEGO T. 

grown-up  sort  of  way  with  Fanny,  trotting  by 
her  side  and  talking  comfortably,  instead  of 
having  to  take  Hal's  hand  and  lugging  him 
along  to  keep  well  in  front  of  the  perambulator. 
They  went  up  the  Ferndale  Road — a  good  way, 
further  than  Peggy  had  ever  been-  so  far 
indeed  that  she  could  scarcely  understand  how 
it  was  the  hills  did  not  seem  much  nearer 
than  from  the  nursery  window,  but  when  she 
asked  Fanny,  Fanny  said  it  was  often  so  with 
hills  — "  nothing  is  more  undependable." 
Peggy  did  not  quite  understand  her,  but 
put  it  away  in  her  head  to  think  about  after- 
ward. 

And  when  they  came  home  it  was  nearly 
tea-time.  Peggy  felt  quite  comfortably  tired 
when  she  had  taken  off  her  things  and  began 
to  help  Fanny  to  get  tea  ready  for  the  boys, 
and  when  they  arrived,  all  three  very  hungry 
and  rather  low-spirited  at  the  thought  of  mamma 
and  nurse  being  away,  it  was  very  nice  for  them 
to  find  the  nursery  quite  as  tidy  as  usual — in- 
deed, perhaps,  rather  tidier — and  Peggy,  with  a 
bright  face,  waiting  with  great  pride  to  pour 
out  tea  for  them. 

"  I  think  you're  a  very  good  housekeeper, 
Peg,"  said  Terence,  who  was  always  the  first  to 
say  something  pleasant. 


A  BUN  TO  THE  GOOD.  105 

"  Not  so  bad,"  agreed  Tliorold  patroniz- 
ingly. 

Baldwin  sat  still,  looking  before  him  solemn- 
ly, and  considering  his  Avords,  as  was  his  way 
before  he  said  anything. 

"I  think,"  he  began  at  last,  "I  think  that 
when  I'm  a  bis;  man  I'll  live  in  a  cottage  all 
alone  with  Peggy,  and  not  no  one  else." 

Peggy  turned  to  him  with  sparkling  eyes. 

"  A  white  cottage,  Baldwin  dear ;  do  say  a 
white  cottage,"  she  entreated, 

"  I  don't  mind — a  white  cottage,  but  quite  a 
tiny  one,"  he  replied. 

"  Hum  !"  said  Thor,  "  that's  very  good- 
natured,  I  must  say.  There'll  be  no  room  for 
visitors,  do  you  hear,  Terry  ?" 

"  Oh,  yes  ;  p'r'aps  there  will  sometimes,"  said 

Peggy- 

"  You'll  let  your  poor  old  Terry  come,  won't 
you,  Peg-top  ?"  said  Terence  coaxingly. 

"  Dear  Terry,"  said  Peggy. 

"  Haven't  you  been  very  dull  all  day  alone, 
by  the  bye  ?"  Terence  went  on. 

"  Not  very,"  Peggy  replied.     "  Fanny  took 

me  a  nice  walk,  and  this  morning "     But 

she  stopped  short  before  telling  more.  She 
was  afraid  that  Thorold  would  laugh  at  her  if 


106  LITTLE  MISS  PEOG  Y. 

she  said  how  much  she  liked  the  children  at 
the  back,  and  then  she  had  another  reason. 
She  wanted  to  "  surprise  "  her  brothers  with  a 
present  of  pipes  for  soap-bubbles,  and  very 
likely  if  she  began  talking  about  the  back 
street  at  all  it  would  made  them  think  of  Mrs. 
Wh elan's,  and  then  they  might  think  of  the 
pipes  for  themselves,  which  Peggy  did  not  wish 
at  all.  She  felt  quite  big  and  managing  since 
she  had  paid  a  visit  to  the  Smileys,  and  had  a 
plan  for  going  to  buy  the  pipes  "  all  by  my  own 
self." 

"  To-morrow,"  said  Thorold,  "  there's  to  be  a 
party  at  our  school.     We're  all  three  to  go." 

Peggy's  face  fell. 

"  It's  Saturday,"  she  said.  "  I  thought  you'd 
have  stayed  with  me." 

Terence  and  Baldwin  looked  sorry. 

"  I'll  stay  at  home,"  said  Terry. 

"  No,"  said  Thor,  "  I  really  don't  think  you 
can.  They're  counting  on  you  for  some  of  the 
games.  Peg  won't  mind  much  for  once,  will 
you  ?     I'm  sorry  too." 

But  before  Peggy  had  time  to  reply,  Baldwin 
broke  in. 

"  I'll  stay  at  home  with  Peg-top,"  he  said,  in 
his  slow,  distinct  way.  "  It  won't  matter  for 
me  not  going.     I'm  one  of  the  little  ones." 


A  BUN  TO  THE  GOOD.  10? 

"  And  we'll  go  a  nice  walk,  won't  we.  Bald- 
win V  said  Peggy,  quite  nappy  again.  "  And 
I  dare  say  we  may  have  something  nice  for  tea. 
I'll  ask  papa,"  she  added  to  herself.  "  I'm  sure 
he'll  give  me  some  pennies  when  he  hears  how 
good  Baldwin  is." 

Miss  Earnshaw  came  the  next  morning,  and 
in  the  interest  of  beino;  measured  for  her  new 
spring  frock,  and  watching  it  being  cut  out, 
and  considering  what  she  herself  could  make 
with  the  scraps  which  the  young  dressmaker 
gave  her,  the  time  passed  very  pleasantly  for 

Peggy- 
Miss  Earnshaw  admired  the  red  shoes  very 

much,  and  was  interested  to  hear  the  story  of 
the  unknown  lady  who  had  given  them  to  Peg- 
gy, and  told  a  story  of  a  similar  adventure  of 
her  own  when  she  was  a  little  girl.  And  after 
dinner  she,  for  Fanny  was  very  busy,  took 
Peggy  and  Baldwin  out  for  a  walk,  and  on 
their  way  home  they  went  to  the  confectioner's 
and  bought  six  halfpenny  buns  with  the  three 
pennies  papa  had  given  Peggy  that  morning. 
At  least  the  children  thought  there  were  only 
six,  but  greatly  to  their  surprise,  when  they 
undid  the  parcel  on  the  nursery  table,  out 
rolled  seven ! 


108  LITTLE  MISS  PEGGY. 

"  Oh,  clear  !"  said  Peggy,  "  she's  gave  us  one 
too  many.  Must  Ave  go  back  to  the  shop  with 
it,  do  you  think,  Miss  Earnshaw  ?  It's  such  a 
long  way." 

"  111  go,"  said  Baldwin,  beginning  to  fasten 
his  boots  again. 

But  Miss  Earnshaw  assured  them  it  was  all 
right. 

"  You  always  get  thirteen  of  any  penny  buns 
or  cakes  for  a  shilling,"  she  said ;  "  and  some 
shops  will  give  you  seven  halfpenny  ones  for 
threepence.  That's  how  it  is.  Did  you  never 
hear  speak  of  a  baker's  dozen  ?" 

Still  Peggy  did  not  feel  satisfied. 

"  It  isn't  comfable,"  she  said,  giving  herself  a 
little  wriggle — a  trick  of  hers  when  she  was 
put  out.  "  Six  would  have  been  much  nicer — 
just  two  for  each,"  for  Miss  Earnshaw  was  to 
have  tea  with  her  and  Baldwin. 

The  young  dressmaker  smiled. 

"  You  are  funny,  Miss  Peggy,"  she  said. 
"  Well,  run  off  now  and  get  ready  for  tea. 
We'll  have  Fanny  bringing  it  up  in  a  minute." 

Peggy,  the  seventh  bun  still  much  on  her 
mind,  went  slowly  into  the  night  nursery.  Be- 
fore beginning  to  take  off  her  hat  she  strolled 
to  the  window  and  looked  out.     She  had  seen 


A  BUN  TO  THE  GOOD.  109 

none  of  the  children  to-day.  Now,  Brown 
Smiley  was  standing  just  in  front  of  the  house, 
a  basket  on  her  arm,  staring  up  and  down  the 
street.  She  had  been  "  of  an  errant  "  for  Mrs. 
Whelan,  but  Mrs.  Whelan's  door  was  locked ; 
she  was  either  asleep  or  counting  her  money, 
and  the  little  girl  knew  that  if  she  went 
on  knocking  the  old  woman  would  get  into  a 
rage,  so  she  was  "  waiting  a  bit."  She  liked 
better  to  do  her  waiting  in  the  street,  for  she 
had  been  busy  indoors  all  the  morning,  and  it 
was  a  change  to  stand  there  looking  about 
her. 

Peggy  gazed  at  her  for  a  moment  or  two. 
Then  an  idea  struck  her.  She  ran  back  into 
the  nursery  and  seized  a  bun — the  odd  bun. 

"  They're  all  mine,  you  know,"  she  called 
out  to  Baldwin ;  "  but  we'll  have  two  each 
still." 

Baldwin  looked  up  in  surprise.  "  What  are 
you  going  to  do  with  it  V  he  began  to  say,  but 
Peggy  was  out  of  sight. 

She  was  soon  downstairs,  and  easily  opened 
the  back  door.  But  the  yard  door  was  fastened  ; 
she  found  some  difficulty  in  turning  the  big 
key.  She  managed  it  at  last,  however,  and 
saw  to  her  delight  that  Brown  Smiley  was  still 
there. 


110  LITTLE  MISS  PEGG  Y. 

"  Brown,"  began  Peggy,  but  suddenly  recol- 
lecting that  the  Smileys  had  real  names,  she 
stopped  short,  and  ran  across  the  street.  "  I 
can't  aniember  your  name,"  she  exclaimed 
breathlessly,  "  but  I've  brought  you  this,"  and 
she  held  out  the  bun. 

Brown  Smiley's  faced  smiled  all  over. 

"  Lor'  miss,"  she  exclaimed.  "  You  are  kind, 
to  be  sure.  Mayn't  I  give  it  to  Lizzie  ?  She's 
been  very  bad  to-day,  and  she's  eat  next  to 
naught.     This  'ere'll  be  tasty-like." 

"  Lizzie,"  repeated  Peggy,  "  which  is  Lizzie  ? 
Oh,  yes,  I  know,  it's  Crippley." 

Brown  Smiley  looked  rather  hurt. 

"  It's  not  her  fault,  miss,"  she  said.  "  I'd  not 
like  her  to  hear  herself  called  like  that." 

Peggy's  face  showed  extreme  surprise. 

"  How  do  you  mean  ?"  she  said.  "  I've  made 
names  for  you  all.  I  didn't  know  your  real 
ones." 

Brown  Smiley  looked  at  her  and  saw  in  a 
moment  that  there  was  nothing  to  be  vexed 
about. 

"  To  be  sure,  miss.  Beg  your  pardon.  Well, 
she  that's  lame's  Lizzie,  and  me,  I'm  Matilda 
Jane." 

"  Oh,  yes,"  interrupted  Peggy.     "  Well,  you 


'-■■v/;*,..-hhtim  mtt^rtmrnrfftrrnxm 


r  ! «*■      «  •• 

i 


1  canT  kvw.LwvG^  your- 

br^fkUsdy,   '*  but*   lv£ 
Urouj^kr  you  Fkls/ancl 
ski   kddl   out  rtvi,    bun. 

Brown  Smilsys   t<^cl- 
smllicl    all  ov^r. 
*  I_»or'  miss/'sht  ixcf&irrud. 

You  csr£  kind, to  bt  Sufi. 
Flayn-'h  l  gi'vs.  if*  to  Liwi't? 
ghe  s  bs.O\  v*ry  bad  to-ck^ 
and  skis  eatmxttb  nought". 
Tks  ara'll  bt  ta^ly-  liks . " 

gt  «tt  tH  w 

.Out  iuolcknly  <N  window 
abov£   obmLol ,  and  Mott^r 
WkilanS  bifnlltd  f*c£  was 
thrust*  out\ 

"  Wba.t  ar*  yx  c\bout  tfitrj 
Thin, and  yy\l  (in  buxrvruf 
ifrzlf  Away,  and  mi  fta, 
Viady  7  w<xifin£    -for    rk* 
l>T**d?      W/ka,ts    ifu 

Vou.ia£  lady  cka+hrm' 
to  t"k*.  It  la*  o* you  for  ? 
Co  boms. ,  Ynissy,  cldcrb'rt' 
<go    ko  mi    " 


A  BUN  TO  THE  GOOD.  m 

may  give  her  the  bun  if  yon  like.  It's  very 
kind  of  you,  for  I  meant  it  for  you.  I'd 
like  " — she  went  on — "  I'd  like  to  give  you 
more,  but  you  see  papa  gaved  me  the  pennies 
for  us,  and  p'r'aps  he'd  be  vexed." 

"  To  be  sure,  to  be  sure,  that'd  never  do," 
replied  Matilda  quickly.  "  But  oh,  miss,  we've 
been  asking  father  about  Brackenshire  and  the 
cottages.  'Tis  Brackenshire  'ills,  sure  enough, 
that's  seen  from  your  front." 

"  I  knew  that,"  said  Peggy,  in  a  superior 
way. 

But  Brown  Smiley  was  too  eager  to  feel  her- 
self snubbed. 

"  And  oh,  but  he  says  it  is  bee-yutiful  there 
— over  on  the  'ills.  The  air's  that  fresh,  and 
there's  flowers  and  big-leaved  things  as  they 
call  ferns  and  brackens." 

"  And  white  cottages  ?"  asked  Peggy  anx- 
iously. 

"  There's  cottages — I  didn't  think  for  to  ask 
if  they  was  all  white.  My  !  If  we  could  but 
go  there  some  fine  day.  'Father  says  it's  not  so 
far;  many's  the  time  he's  walked  over  there 
and  back  again  the  next  morning  when  he  first 
coined  to  work  here,  you  see,  miss,  and  his  'ome 
was  still  over  there  like." 


112  LITTLE  MISS  PEQG  Y. 

"  Yes,  in  the  white  cottage,"  said  Peggy. 
She  had  made  up  her  mind  that  it  was  unkind 
not  to  "  let  it  be  "  that  the  Smileys'  father  had 
lived  in  that  very  cottage,  for  he  did  seem 
to  be  a  nice  man  in  spite  of  his  bigness  and  his 
dingy  workman's  clothes.  If  he  wasn't  nice 
and  kind  she  didn't  think  the  children  would 
talk  of  him  as  they  did. 

But  she  spoke  absently ;  Matilda  Jane's  words 
had  put  thoughts  in  her  head  which  seemed  to 
make  her  almost  giddy.  Brown  Smiley  stared 
at  her  for  a  minute. 

"  How  she  do  cling  to  them  cottages  being 
white,"  she  thought  to  herself,  "  but  there — if 
it  pleases  her  !  She's  but  a  little  one."  "White 
if  you  please,  miss,"  she  replied,  "though  I 
can't  say  as  I  had  it  from  father." 

But  suddenly  a  window  above  opened,  and 
Mother  Whelan's  befrilled  face  was  thrust 
out. 

"  What  are  you  about  there  then,  and  me  fire 
burning  itself  away,  and  me  tea  ready,  waiting 
for  the  bread  %  What's  the  young  lady  chat- 
terin'  to  the  likes  o'  you  for  ?  Go  home,  niissy, 
darlin',  go  home." 

The  two  children  jumped  as  if  they  had  been 
shot. 


A  BUN  TO  THE  GOOD.  113 

"  Will  she  beat  you  ?"  whispered  Peggy,  look- 
ing very  frightened.  But  Brown  Smiley  shook 
her  little  round  head  and  laughed. 

"  She  won't  have  a  chance,  and  she  dursn't 
not  to  say  beat  us — father'd  be  down  on  her — 
but  she  doesn't  think  naught  of  a  good  shakin'. 
But  I'll  push  the  basket  in  and  run  off  if  she's 
in  a  real  wax." 

u  Good-by,  then.  You  must  tell  me  lots 
more  about  the  hills.  Ask  your  father  all  you 
can,"  and  so  saying,  Peggy  flew  home  again. 

"  Where*  ve  yon  been.  What  did  you  do  with 
the  bun  ?"  asked  Baldwin,  as  soon  as  she  came 
into  the  nursery. 

"  I  runned  down  with  it,  and  gavecl  it  to  a 
little  girl  I  saw  in  the  street,"  said  Peggy. 

"  Very  kind  and  nice,  I'm  sure,"  said  Miss 
Earnshaw.  "  Was  it  a  beggar,  Miss  Peggy  ? 
You're  sure  your  mamma  and  nurse  wouldn't 
mind  ?"  she  added  rather  anxiously. 

"  Oh,  no,"  said  Peggy.  "  It's  not  a  beggar. 
It's  a  proper  little  poor  girl  what  nurse  gives 
our  nold  clothes  to." 

"  Oh,"  said  Baldwin,  "  one  of  the  children 
over  the  cobbler's,  I  suppose.  But,  Peggy,"  he 
was  going  on  to  say  he  didn't  think  his  sister 
had  ever  been  allowed  to  run  down  to  the  back 


114  LITTLE  MISS  PEGG  T. 

street  to  speak  to  them,  only  lie  was  so  slow 
and  so  long  of  making  up  his  mind  that,  as 
Fanny  just  then  came  in  with  the  tea,  which 
made  a  little  bustle,  nobody  attended  to  him, 
and  Miss  Earnshaw  remained  quite  satisfied 
that  all  was  right. 

The  buns  tasted  very  good — all  the  better  to 
Peggy  from  the  feeling  that  poor  lame  Lizzie 
was  perhaps  eating  hers  at  that  same  moment, 
and  finding  it  "  tasty." 

"  Does  lame  people  ever  get  quite  better  ?" 
she  asked  the  young  dressmaker. 

"  That  depends,"  Miss  Earnshaw  replied. 
"  If  it's  through  a  fall  or  something  that  way, 
outside  of  them  so  to  say,  there's  many  as  gets 
better.  But  if  it's  in  them,  in  the  constitu- 
tion, there's  many  as  stays  lame  all  their  lives 
through." 

Peggy  wriggled  a  little.  She  didn't  like  to 
think  about  it  much.  It  sounded  so  myste- 
rious. 

"  What  part's  that,"  she  asked,  "  that  big 
word  r 

"  Constitootion,"  said  Baldwin,  as  if  he  was 
trying  to  spell  "  Constantinople." 

Miss  Earnshaw  laughed.  She  lived  alone 
with  her  mother,  and   was  not  much  used  to 


A  BUN  TO  THE  GOOD,  115 

children.  But  she  was  so  pleasant-tempered 
and  gentle  that  she  easily  got  into  their  ways. 

"  I  shouldn't  use  such  long  words,"  she  said. 
"Our  constitution  just  means  ourselves — the 
way  we're  made.  A  strong,  healthy  person  is 
said  to  have  a  good  constitution,  and  a  weakly 
person  has  a  poor  one." 

Baldwin  and  Pegffy  both  sat  silent  for  a 
minute,  thinking  over  what  she  said. 

"  I  don't  see  how  that's  to  do  with  crippling," 
said  Peggy  at  last.  "  Does  you  mean,"  she 
went  on,  "  that  p'r'aps  lame  people's  legs  is  made 
wrong — by  mistake,  you  know  ?  In  course  Grod 
wouldn't  do  it  of  purpose,  would  he  V 

Baldwin  looked  rather  startled. 

"  Peggy,"  he  said,  "  I  don't  think  you  should 
speak  that  way." 

Peggy  turned  her  gray  eyes  full  upon  him. 

"  I  don't  mean  to  say  anything  naughty,"  she 
said.     "  Is  it  naughty,  Miss  Earnshaw  ?" 

The  young  dressmaker  had  herself  been 
rather  taken  aback  by  Peggy's  queer  speech, 
and  for  a  moment  or  two  scarcely  knew  what 
to  say.     But  then  her  face  cleared  again. 

"  God  can't  make  mistakes,  Miss  Peggy,"  she 
said,  "and  he  is  always  kind.  All  the  same 
there's  many  things  that  seem  like  one  or  the 


116  LITTLE  MISS  PEGGY. 

other,  I  know.  It  must  be  that  there's  reasons 
for  them  that  we  can't  see — like  when  a  doctor 
hurts  anybody,  it  seems  unkind,  but  it's  really 
to  do  them  good." 

"  Like  when  our  doctor  cutted  poor  baby's 
tooths  to  make  them  come  through,"  said  Peggy 
eagerly.  "They  was  all  bleeding,  bleeding 
ever  so,  Miss  Earnshaw.  Baby  didn't  under- 
stand, and  he  was  very  angry.  He  always 
sc'eams  at  the  doctor  now.  I  almost  think  he'd 
like  to  kill  him." 

Baldwin  opened  his  mouth  wide  at  these 
bloodthirsty  sentiments  of  baby's.  He  was 
too  shocked  to  speak. 

"  But  it  is  only  'cos  he  doesn't  understand," 
Peggy  went  on  placidly.  "  I  don't  sc'eam  at 
the  doctor.  I  speak  to  him  quite  goodly,  'cos, 
you  see,  I  understand." 

Baldwin  closed  his  mouth  again.  He  looked 
at  Peggy  with  admiring  respect. 

"  Yes,"  agreed  Miss  Earnshaw,  greatly  re- 
lieved at  the  turn  their  talk  had  taken,  "  that's 
just  it,  Miss  Peggy.  You  couldn't  have  put  it 
better." 

u  Peggy,"  said  Baldwin,  "  when  you're  big 
you  should  be  a  clergymunt." 


UNDER  THE  BIG  UMBRELLA.  H7 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

UNDER    THE    BIG    UMBRELLA. 

"As  I  was  going  up  Pippin  Hill, 
Pippin  Hill  was  dirty, 
There  I  met  a  pretty  miss, 
And  she  dropped  me  a  curtsey. " 

— Old  Nursery  Rhyme. 

Nothing  particular  happened  during  the  next 
few  days.  Peggy's  little  life  went  on  regularly 
and  peacefully.  Miss  Earnshaw  came  every 
morning,  and  either  she  or  Fanny  took  Peggy 
a  walk  every  afternoon,  except  twice  when  it 
rained,  to  the  little  girl's  great  disappoint- 
ment. 

The  second  of  these  wet  days  happened  to 
be  Friday.  Peggy  stood  at  the  front  nursery 
window  that  morning  looking  out  rather  sadly. 
There  were  no  hills — no  white  spot  to  be  seen, 
of  course. 

"  I  wonder  what  the  Smileys  do  when  it 
rains   all  day,"  she  said  to  herself.     "  I  think 


1 1 8  LITTLE  MISS  PEOG  Y. 

I'll  go  to  the  back  window  and  look  if  I  can 
see  any  of  them." 

She  had  scarcely  caught  sight  of  her  neigh- 
bors for  some  days.  Only  now  and  then  she 
had  seen  the  little  ones  tumbling  about  on  the 
pavement,  and  once  or  twice  the  elder  girls  had 
brought  their  chairs  down  and  sat  there  sewing. 
Lizzie  had  never  come  out.  Peggy  feared  she 
must  be  still  ill,  and  perhaps  that  made  the 
others  extra  busy.  It  was  not  likely  any  of 
them  would  come  out  to-day,  as  it  was  raining 
so;  but  sometimes  she  was  able  to  see  their 
faces  at  the  window.  And  on  a  rainy  day  some 
of  the  little  ones  at  least  would  perhaps  be 
looking  out. 

She  turned  to  go  to  the  other  nursery,  when 
Miss  Earnshaw  spoke  to  her. 

"  I  wouldn't  be  so  vexed  at  its  being  wet  to- 
day, Miss  Peggy,  if  I  was  you,"  she  said.  "  It'll 
be  much  worse  if  it's  wet  to-morrow,  for  it's 
your  brothers'  half-holiday." 

"  Is  to-morrow  Saturday  ?"  asked  Peggy. 

"  To  be  sure  it  is.  And  I'm  afraid  I  can't 
possibly  stay  here  in  the  afternoon.  I've  got 
to  go  to  see  a  lady  some  way  off  about  some 
work.  I  wish  she  hadn't  fixed  for  Saturday. 
If   it's  fine  it  won't  matter  so  much.     Fanny 


UNDER  THE  BIG  UMBRELLA.  119 

and  I  were  saying  yon  could  all  go  a  nice  walk 
— the  yonng  gentlemen  and  yon — with  her. 
But  if  it's  wet  I  don't  know  however  she'll 
manage  yon  all  in  the  house." 

Suddenly  Peggy's  eyes  began  to  sparkle. 

"  Miss  Earnshaw,"  she  said,  "  I've  thought  of 
something.  If  yon'll  ask  Fanny,  I'm  sure  she'll 
say  we  can  ;  we've  not  had  them  for  such  a 
long  time,  and  I've  got  my  four  pennies  and  a 
halfpenny — that'll  get  six,  you  know,  in  case 
any's  brokened." 

Miss  Earnshaw  looked  at  her  and  then  began 
to  laugh. 

"  Miss  Peggy  dear,  you  must  tell  me  first 
what  you  mean,"  she  said.  "  Your  thoughts 
come  so  fast  that  they  run  ahead  of  your 
words.  What  is  it  you  mean  to  get  six  of — 
not  buns  ?" 

"  Buns  !"  repeated  Peggy.  "  You  can't  blow 
bubbles  with  buns.  No,  of  course  I  meant 
pipes.  Nice  white  pipes  to  blow  soap-bubbles." 

"Oh,  to  be  sure,"  said  Miss  Earnshaw. 
"  That's  a  very  good  idea,  Miss  Peggy,  in  case 
to-morrow  afternoon's  wet,  and  I  shouldn't 
wonder  if  it  was." 

"  And  you'll  ask  Fanny  ?" 

"  Of  course  ;  you  can  ask  her  yourself  for 


120  LITTLE  MISS  PEGGY. 

that  matter.  I'm  sure  she's  the  last  to  grudge 
you  anything  that'cl  please  you  and  the  young 
gentlemen.  And  even  if  soap-bubbles  are 
rather  messy  sometimes,  it's  easy  to  wipe  up. 
It's  not  like  anything  dirty." 

"  Soap  must  be  clean,  mustn't  it  V  said 
Peggy,  laughing.  "  But  don't  tell  the  boys, 
pelease,  dear  Miss  Earnshaw.  I  do  so  want  to 
apprise  them.  I  can  get  the  pipes  to-morrow 
morning.  I  know  where  to  get  them,"  and 
quite  happy,  Peggy  trotted  off  to  take  out  her 
money-box  and  look  to  be  quite  sure  that  the 
three  pennies  and  three  halfpennies  were  there 
in  safety,  where  for  some  weeks  they  had  been 
waiting. 

"  Bless  her  heart,"  said  the  young  dressmaker. 
"  She  is  the  sweetest  little  innocent  darling 
that  ever  lived." 

After  looking  over  her  pennies  Peggy  turned 
to  the  window.  No,  none  of  the  Smileys  was 
to  be  seen. 

"  Never  mind,"  said  Peggy  to  herself.  "  I'll 
p'r'aps  see  them  to-morrow  when  I  go  for  the 
pipes.  I  almost  hope  it'll  be  a  wet  day.  It 
will  be  so  nice  to  blow  soap-bubbles.  Only," 
and  she  sighed  a  little,  "  it  does  seem  such  a 
very  long  time  since  I  sawed  the  white  cot- 
tage." 


UNDER  THE  BIO  UMBRELLA.  121 

To-morrow  was  rainy,  very  rainy,  with  no 
look  of  "  going  to  clear  up  "  about  it.  The  boys 
grumbled  a  good  deal  at  breakfast  at  the  dole- 
ful prospect  of  a  dull  half-holiday  in  the 
house. 

"  And  papa's  going  away  to-day  till  Monday," 
said  Thorold  ;  "  so  there'll  be  no  going  down  to 
the  dining-room  to  sit  beside  him  while  he's  at 
dinner  for  a  change.1' 

"  Poor  papa,"  said  Peggy,  "  he'll  get  very  wet 
going  such  a  long  way." 

"  Nonsense,  you  little  goose,"  said  Thor 
crossly.  "  People  don't  get  wet  in  cabs  and 
railway  carriages." 

"  I  forgot,"  said  Peggy  meekly. 

"  You  shouldn't  call  her  a  goose,  Thor,"  said 
Terence  "  It's  very  disagreeable  to  travel  on 
a  very  rainy  day.  I've  often  heard  people  say 
so." 

"  I  wish  I  was  going  to  travel,  rainy  or  not, 
I  know  that,"  grumbled  Thorold.  "  Here  we 
shall  be  mewed  up  in  this  stupid  nursery  all 
the  afternoon  with  nothing  to  do." 

"  There's  lots  of  things  to  do,"  said  Baldwin. 
"  I  think  I'll  write  a  letter  to  mamma  for  one 
tiling.  And  I  want  to  tidy  my  treasure-box 
and—"  . 


122  LITTLE  MISS  PEGG  Y. 

"  You're  a  stupid/'  said  Thorold.  "  You're 
too  fat  and  slow  to  have  any  spirit  in  you." 

"  Now,  Thorold,  I  say  that's  not  fair,"  said 
Terry.  "  Would  it  show  spirit  to  grumble  ? 
You'd  be  down  upon  him  if  he  did.  There's 
no  pleasing  you." 

"  I  know  something  that  would  please  him," 
said  Peggy,  who  was  trembling  between  eager- 
ness to  tell  and  determination  not  to  tell  her 
"  surprise." 

"  What  ?"  said  Thor,  rather  grumpily  still. 

"  I'm  not  going  to  tell  you  till  you  come 
home.  And  it'll  only  be  if  it's  a  rainy  after- 
noon," said  Peggy. 

Terence  and  Baldwin  pricked  up  their 
ears. 

"  Oh,  do  tell  us,  Peg-top,"  they  said. 

But  the  little  girl  shook  her  head. 

"  No,  no,"  she  replied.  "  I've  promised  my- 
self— quite  promised  not." 

"  There's  a  reason  for  you,"  said  Thor.  But 
his  tone  was  more  good-natured  now.  He  felt 
ashamed  of  being  so  cross  when  the  little  ones 
were  so  kind  and  bright. 

"  I'll  really,  truly  tell  you  when  you  come 
back  from  school,"  said  Peggy,  and  with  this 
assurance  the  boys  had  to  content  themselves. 


UNDER  THE  BIG  UMBRELLA.  123 

Miss  Earnshaw  arrived  as  usual,  or  rather 
not  as  usual,  for  she  was  dripping,  poor  thing, 
and  had  to  leave  her  waterproof  downstairs  in 
the  kitchen. 

"  What  weather,  Miss  Peggy,"  she  said  as 
she  came  in,  "  I  thought  it  would  be  a  wet 
day,  but  not  such  a  pour.  It  is  unfortunate 
that  I  have  to  go  so  far  to-day,  isn't  it  ?  And 
I'm  sorry  to  leave  you  children  alone  too." 

"  Never  mind,"  said  Peggy  cheerily ;  "  we'll 
be  quite  happy  with  the  soap  bubbles.  I've  got 
my  money  quite  ready.  Mayn't  I  go  and  get 
the  pipes  now  ?" 

"  Out,  my  dear  ?  In  such  weather  !"  ex- 
claimed Miss  Earnshaw. 

"  Oh,  but  it's  quite  near,"  said  Peggy.  "  Just 
hop  out  of  the  door  and  you're  there.  The 
boys  always  buy  their  pipes  there,  and  mamma 
goes  there  herself  sometimes  to  see  the  old 
woman." 

"Well,  wait  a  bit,  anyway.  It  can't  go  on 
raining  as  fast  as  this  all  the  morning  surely. 
It's  real  cats  and  dogs." 

Peggy  looked  up  in  surprise. 

"  Cats  and  dogs,  Miss  Earnshaw  ?"  she  re- 
peated. 

"  Oh,  bless  you,  my  dear,  it's  only  a  way  of 


124  LITTLE  MISS  PEGGY. 

speaking,"  said  the  dressmaker  a  little  im- 
patiently, for  slie  was  not  very  muck  accustomed 
to  children.  "  It  just  means  raining  very 
hard." 

Peggy  went  to  the  window  to  look  out  for 
herself.  Yes,  indeed  it  was  raining  very  hard. 
The  little  girl  could  not  help  sighing  a  little  as 
she  gazed  at  the  thick  even  gray  of  the  clouds, 
hiding  like  a  curtain  every  trace  of  the  distant 
hills  she  was  so  fond  of. 

"  I  won't  put  out  the  little  red  shoes  to-day," 
she  said  to  herself,  "  there's  nothing  for  them 
to  see." 

Then  other  thoughts  crept  into  her  mind. 

"  I  wonder  if  it's  raining  at  the  white  cottage 
too,"  she  said  to  herself.  And  aloud  she  asked 
a  question. 

"  Miss  Earnshaw,  pelease,  does  it  ever  rain 
in  the  country  ?"  she  said. 

"  Kain  in  the  country  !  I  should  rather 
think  it  did.  Worse  than  in  town,  you  might 
say — that's  to  say,  where  there's  less  shelter, 
you'll  get  wetter  and  dirtier  in  the  country, 
only  of  course  it's  not  the  same  kind  of  really 
black  sooty  rain.  But  as  for  mud  in  country 
lanes  !  I  shall  see  something  of  it  this  after- 
noon, I  expect." 


UNDER  THE  BIO  UMBRELLA.  125 

"  Ob,  I'm  so  sorry,"  said  Peggy.  "  I  thought 
it  never  rained  in  the  country.  I  thought  it 
was  always  quite  pretty  and  lovely,"  and  she 
sighed  deeply.  a  I  wonder  what  people  who 
live  in  little  cottages  in  the  country  do  all  day 
when  it  rains,"  she  said. 

"  Why,  my  dear,  much  the  same  as  other  folk, 
I  should  say.  They  have  their  rooms  to  clean, 
and  their  dinner  to  cook,  and  their  children  to 
look  after.  Still  I  dare  say  it'd  be  a  bit 
drearier  in  the  country  of  a  right-down  wet 
day  like  this,  even  than  in  town.  I've  never 
lived  there  myself,  except  for  a  week  at  a  time 
at  most,  but  mother  was  all  her  young  days  in 
the  country." 

"Everybody's  fathers  and  mothers  lived 
there,"  said  Peggy  rather  petulantly.  "  Why 
don't  peoples  let  their  children  live  there 
now  ?" 

Miss  Earnshaw  laughed  a  little.  Peggy  did 
not  like  her  to  laugh  in  that  way,  and  she  gave 
herself  a  little  wriggle,  though  poor  Miss 
Earnshaw  certainly  did  not  mean  to  vex 
her. 

"  There  are  plenty  of  children  in  the  country 
too,  Miss  Peggy,"  she  said.  "  Mother's  youngest 
sister  has  twelve." 


126  LITTLE  MISS  PUGG  Y. 

"  Twelve/'  repeated  Peggy,  "  liow  nice  !  at 
least  if  there's  lots  of  sisters  among  them,  and 
no  very  little  babies.  Do  they  live  over  in 
that  country  ?"  she  went  on,  pointing  in  the 
direction  of  the  invisible  hills,  "  that  country, 
called  Brack —     You  know  the  name." 

"  Brackenshire,"  said  Miss  Earnshaw :  "  no, 
my  mother  comes  from  much  further  off.  A 
very  pretty  place  it  must  be  by  what  she  says. 
Not  but  what  Brackenshire's  a  pretty  country 
toOo  I've  been  there  several  times  with  the 
Sunday-school  for  a  treat." 

"  And  did  you  see  the  hills  and  the  white 
cottages  ?"  asked  Peggy  breathlessly. 

"  Oh,  yes,  the  hills  are  beautiful,  and  there's 
lots  of  cottages  of  all  kinds.  They  look  pretty 
among  the  trees,  even  though  they're  only  poor 
little  places,  most  of  them." 

"  The  white  ones  is  the  prettiest,"  said  Peggy, 
as  if  she  knew  all  about  it. 

"Yes,  I  dare  say,"  said  Miss  Earnshaw, 
without  paying  much  attention  ;  she  had  got  to 
rather  a  difficult  part  of  the  sleeve  she  was 
making. 

"  Did  you  ever  walk  all  the  way  there  when 
you  was  a  little  girl  V  Peggy  went  on. 

"  Oh,  yes,  of  course,"  Miss  Earnshaw  replied, 


UNDER  THE  BIG  UMBRELLA.  12? 

without  the  least  idea  of  what  she  was 
answering. 

"  Really  !"  said  Peggy  ;  "  how  nice  !"  Then 
seeing  that -the  dressmaker  was  absorbed  in 
her  work,  "Miss  Earnshaw,"  she  said,  "I'm 
going  for  the  pipes  now.  It  isn't  raining 
quite  so  fast,  and  I'll  not  be  long." 

"Very  well,  my  dear,"  Miss  Earnshaw  re- 
plied, and  Peggy  went  oif  to  fetch  her  pennies 
from  the  drawer  in  the  other  nnrsery  where  she 
kept  them.  She  had  a  new  idea  in  her  head, 
an  idea  which  Miss  Earnshaw's  careless  words 
had  helped  to  put  there,  little  as  she  knew 
it. 

"  If  I  see  the  Smiley s,"  thought  Peggy,  "  I'll 
tell  them  what  she  said." 

She  glanced  out  of  the  window.  Dear  me, 
how  lucky  !  There  stood  Brown  Smiley  look- 
ing out  at  the  door,  as  if  she  were  hesitating 
before  making  a  plunge  into  the  dripping  wet 
street.  It  did  seem  at  the  back  as  if  it  were 
raining  faster  than  in  the  front.  Peggy  opened 
the  cupboard  and  took  out  her  little  cloak 
which  was  hanging  there. 

"  I  won't  put  on  my  hat,"  she  thought,  "  'cos 
nurse  says  the  rain  spoils  the  feavers.  I'll  get 
a  numbrella  downstairs,  and  then  I  can't  get 


128  LITTLE  MISS  PEGG  T. 

wet,  and  here's  my  pennies  all  right  in  my 
pocket.  I  do  hope  Brown  Smiley  will  wait  till 
I  get  down." 

She  made  all  the  haste  she  could,  and  found, 
as  she  expected,  an  umbrella  in  the  stand 
downstairs.  It  was  not  very  easy  to  open,  but 
she  succeeded  at  last ;  then  came,  however, 
another  difficulty :  she  could  not  get  herself 
and  the  umbrella  through  the  back  door  to- 
gether. 

"  Dear  me ,"  thought  Pe^srr,  "  I  wonder  how 
people  does  with  their  numbrellas.  They  must 
open  them  in  the  house,  else  they'd  get  wet 
standing  outside  while  they're  doing  it.  I  never 
looked  to  see  how  nurse  does,  but  then  we 
almost  never  go  out  when  it's  rainy.  I  appose 
it's  one  of  the  hard  things  big  peoples  has  to 
learn.     Oh,  dear  !  won't  it  come  through  ?" 

No,  she  couldn't  manage  it,  at  least  not  with 
herself  under  it.  At  last  a  brilliant  idea 
struck  Peggy  ;  anything  was  better  than  clos- 
ing the  tiresome  thing  now  she  had  got  it 
open — she  would  send  it  first  and  follow 
after  herself.  So  the  umbrella  was  passed 
through,  and  went  slipping  down  the  two  or 
three  steps  that  led  into  the  yard,  where  it  lay 
gaping  up  reproachfully  at  Peggy,  who  felt  in- 


UNDER  THE  BIG  UMBRELLA.  129 

clinecl  to  call  out  "  Never  mind,  poor  thing, 
I'm  coming  d'reckly." 

And  as  "  d'reckly  "  as  possible  she  did  come, 
carefully  closing  the  door  behind  her,  for  fear 
the  rain  should  get  into  the  house,  which, 
together  with  the  picking  up  of  the  umbrella, 
far  too  big  and  heavy  a  one  for  a  tiny  girl,  took 
so  long  that  I  am  afraid  a  good  many  drops  had 
time  to  fall  on  the  fair  uncovered  head  before 
it  got  under  shelter  ao-ain. 

But  little  cared  Peggy.  She  felt  as  proud  as 
a  peacock,  the  umbrella  representing  the  tail, 
you  understand,  when  she  found  herself  outside 
the  yard  door,  which  behaved  very  amiably, 
fairly  under  weigh  for  her  voyage  across  the 
street.  She  could  see  nothing  before  her  ;  for- 
tunately,  however,  no  carriages  or  carts  ever 
came  down  the  narrow  back  way. 

Half-way  over  Peggy  stopped  short--  she 
had  forgotten  to  look  if  Brown  Smiley  was  still 
standing  there.  It  was  not  easy  to  get  a  peep 
from  under  the  umbrella,  without  tilting  it 
and  herself  backward  on  to  the  muddy  road, 
but  with  great  care  Peggy  managed  it.  Ah, 
dear,  what  a  disappointment !  There  was  no 
little  girl  in  front  of  the  cobbler's  window, 
but  glancing  to  one   side,  Peggy  caught  sight 


130  LITTLE  MISS  PEGGY. 

of  the  small  figure  with  a  shawl  of  "mother's" 
quaintly  drawn  over  the  head,  trotting  away 
down  the  street.  With  a  cry  Peggy  dashed 
after  her. 

"  Oh,  Brown  Smiley,"  she  called  out,  "  do 
come  back.  I'm  too  frightened  to  go  to  buy 
the  pipes  alone,"  for  what  with  her  struggles 
and  her  excitement,  the  little  damsel's  nerves 
were  rather  upset.  "  Oh,  Brown  Smiley— no 
— no,  that's  not  her  name,  oh,  what  is  your 
name,  Brown  Smiley  ?"  and  on  along  the  rough 
pavement  behind  the  little  messenger  she  rushed, 
if  indeed  poor  Peggy's  toddling,  flopping  from 
one  side  to  another  progress,  could  possibly  be 
called  "  rushing." 

It  came  to  an  end  quickly — the  paving-stones 
were  rough  and  uneven,  the  small  feet  had  only 
u  my  noldest  house-shoes  "  to  protect  them,  and 
the  "  numbrella  "  was  sadly  in  the  way ;  there 
came  suddenly  a  sharp  cry,  so  piercing  and 
distressful  that  even  Matilda  Jane,  accustomed 
as  she  was  to  childish  sounds  of  woe  of  every 
kind  and  pitch,  was  startled  enough  to  turn 
round  and  look  behind  her. 

"  Can  it  be  Half  red  come  a-runnin'  after  me  ?" 
she  said  to  herself.  But  the  sight  that  met  her 
eyes  puzzled  her  so  that  at  the  risk  of  Mother 


X_>  ut  &y\  uw\kTzlla>  -rolling  \hil(  ^koufon  tint 
h&vLmmt,  an  um brills  from  which  j^rociids 
most"  bihous  wa«ls,<Ma  urnbrillcx  -from  ixn  = 
dUmsath  which,  wVxtn  you  <g£t  dosz  to  it\  vou 
SU  touo  ''^^  "k^ 
sticking  out,^nci 
bv  oU<£ras  two  ru&T 
black  \i&,  cS^ol  fhih 
e\  YT\ucldli  of  short* 
skirtV  ,  wkich  bv  righft 
should  UdrApih^tni 

U6S>  buh    h&V*     SoVV\£; 

how  go^cxll  tumid  ub 
sidi  dowv*  lik^abinJi 
fs^tnLrs  ru{flid  uf>tfi£ 
wr0n£w<w — Such    ivn 
ixwibrjl^c^  ptrUp 
1  should  say  a."  toru 
brills  <n  5u.ch  cotum: 
st^vuxs,  may  ctrtainly 
hi  C^IUd  2v  stro\n<Sl 
5i^Kf,  rr\dy  it  not  2 


UNDER  THE  BIG  UMBRELLA.  131 

Whelan's  scolding  for  being  so  long,  she  could 
not  resist  running  back  to  examine  for  herself 
the  strange  object.  This  was  nothing  more 
nor  less  than  an  umbrella,  and  an  umbrella  in 
itself  is  not  an  uncommon  sight.  But  an  um- 
brella rolling  itself  about  on  the  pavement,  an 
umbrella  from  which  proceeds  most  piteous 
wails,  an  umbrella  from  underneath  which, 
when  you  get  close  to  it,  you  see  two  little  feet 
sticking  out  and  by  degrees  two  neat  black 
legs,  and  then  a  muddle  of  short  skirts,  which 
by  rights  should  be  draping  the  legs,  but  have 
somehow  got  all  turned  upside  down  like  a 
bird's  feathers  ruined  up  the  wrong  way — such 
an  umbrella,  or  perhaps  I  should  say  an  um- 
brella in  such  circumstances,  certainly  may  be 
called  a  strange  sight,  may  it  not  ? 

Matilda  Jane  Simpkins,  for  that  was  Brown 
Smiley's  whole  long  name,  thought  so  anyway, 
for  she  stood  stock-still,  staring,  and  the  only 
thing  she  could  collect  herself  enough  to  say 
was,  "  Lor' !" 

But  her  state  of  stupefaction  only  lasted  half 
a  moment.  She  was  a  practical  and  business- 
like little  person ;  before  there  was  time  for 
another  cry  for  help,  she  had  disentangled  the 
umbrella  and  its  owner,  and  set  the  latter  on 


132  LITTLE  MISS  PEGG  7. 

her  feet  again,  sobbing  piteously,  and  dread- 
fully dirty  and  muddy,  but  otherwise  not  much 
the  worse. 

Then  Matilda  Jane  gave  vent  to  another  ex- 
clamation. 

"  Bless  me,  missy,  it's  you  !"  she  cried.  "  What- 
ever are  you  a-doing  of  to  be  out  in  the  rain  all 
alone,  with  no  'at  and  a  humbrella  four  sizes 
too  big  for  the  likes  of  you,  and  them  paper- 
soled  things  on  yer  feet  ?  and,  oh,  my  !  ain't  yer 
frock  muddy  ?  What'll  your  folk  say  to  you  ? 
Or  is  they  all  away  and  left  you  and  the  cat  to 
keep  'ouse  ?" 

"  I  was  running  after  you,  Brown  Smiley," 
sobbed  Peggy.  She  could  not  quite  make  out 
if  Matilda  Jane  was  making  fun  of  her  or  not, 
and,  indeed,  to  do  Matilda  justice,  she  had  no 
such  intention.  "  I  was  running  after  you," 
Peggy  repeated,  "  and  you  wouldn't  stop,  and 
I  couldn't  run  fast  'cos  of  the  numbrella,  and  so 
I  felled  down." 

"  Never  mind,  missy  dear,  you'll  be  none 
the  worse,  you'll  see.  Only,  will  they  give  it 
you  when  you  go  home  for  dirtying  of  your 
frock  ?" 

"  Give  it  me  ?"  repeated  Peggy. 


UNDER  THE  BIG  UMBRELLA.  133 

"  Yes,  give  it  you  ;  will  you  get  it — will  you 
catch  it  ?"  said  Matilda  impatiently. 

"  I  don't  know  what  you  mean/'  Peggy  re- 
plied. 

Matilda  wasted  no  more  words  on  her.  She 
took  her  by  the  arm,  umbrella  and  all,  and 
trotted  her  down  the  street  again  till  they  had 
reached  the  Smiley  mansion.  Then  she  drew 
Peggy  inside  the  doorway  of  the  passage, 
whence  a  stair  led  up  to  Mrs.  Whelan's,  and  to 
the  Simpkins'  own  rooms  above  that  again,  and 
having  shut  up  the  umbrella  with  such  perfect 
ease  that  Peggy  gazed  at  her  in  admiration,  she 
tried  to  explain  her  meaning. 

"  Look  'ere  now,  miss,"  she  said,  "  which'll 
you  do — go  straight  over  the  way  'ome  just  as 
you  are,  or  come  in  along  of  huz  and  get  yerself 
cleaned  up  a  bit  ?" 

aOh,  I'll  go  in  with  you,  pelease,"  sobbed 
Peggy.  "  P'r'aps  Miss  Earnshaw  wouldn't 
scold  me.  She  let  me  come,  and  I  didn't  fell 
down  on  purpose.  But  I  know  she  wouldn't  let 
me  come  out  again — I'm  sure  she  wouldn't,  and 
I  do  so  want  to  get  the  pipes  my  own  self. 
You'll  take  me  to  Mrs.  Whelan's,  won't  you, 
dear  Brown  Smiley  ?" 

"  I'll  catch  it  when  she  sees  I  haven't  done 


134  LITTLE  MISS  PEOG  T. 

her  errant,"  said  Matilda.  "  But  never  mind ; 
she'll  not  be  so  bad  with  you  there,  maybe. 
Come  up  with  me,  missy,  and  I'll  get  Rebecca 
to  wipe  you  a  bit,"  and  she  began  the  ascent 
of  the  narrow  staircase,  followed  by  Peggy. 


THE  OPPOSITE  HOUSE.  135 


CHAPTER  IX. 

THE    OPPOSITE    HOUSE. 

There  was  an  old  woman  that  lived  in  a  shoe 


She  had  so  many  children  she  didn't  know  what  to  do." 

— Nursery  Rhymes. 

In  spite  of  her  misfortunes,  Peggy  could  not 
help  feeling  very  pleased  at  finding  herself  at 
last  inside  the  house  she  had  watched  so  often 
from  the  outside.  It  was  certainly  not  a  pretty 
house — a  big  person  would  probably  have 
thought  it  a  very  poor  and  uninteresting  one  • 
but  it  was  not  dirty.  The  old  wooden  steps 
were  scrubbed  down  once  a  week  regularly,  so 
there  was  nothing  to  strike  the  little  girl  as 
disagreeable,  and  it  seemed  delightfully  queer 
and  mysterious  as  she  climbed  the  steep,  un- 
even staircase,  which  grew  darker  and  darker 
as  they  went  on,  so  that  but  for  Brown  Smiley's 
voice  in  front,  Peggy  would  not  have  had  the 
least  idea  where  she  was  going. 


136  LITTLE  MISS  PEGGY. 

"  There's  Mother  Whelan's  door,"  Matilda 
said  in  a  half- whisper,  as  if  afraid  of  the  old 
woman's  pouncing  out  upon  them,  and  Peggy 
wondered  how  she  knew  it,  for  to  her  every- 
thing was  perfectly  dark  ;  "  but  we'll  go  up- 
stairs first  to  Rebecca,"  and  on  they  climbed. 

Suddenly,  what  seemed  for  a  moment  a  blaze 
of  brilliant  light  from  the  contrast  with  the 
darkness  where  they  were  broke  upon  them, 
Peggy  quite  started.  But  it  was  only  the 
opening  of  a  door. 

"  Is  that  you,  Matilda  Jane  ?  My,  but  you 
have  been  sharp.  I  should  think  old  Whelan 
'ud  be  pleased  for  oust." 

The  speaker  was  Reddy ;  she  stood  in  the 
doorway,  her  bare  red  arms  shining,  as  they 
always  did,  from  being  so  often  up  to  the  elbows 
in  soap-and- water. 

"  Oh,  Rebecca,  don't  say  nothin',  but  I've  not 
been  of  my  errant  yet.  Now,  don't  ye  begin  at 
me — 'tweren't  of  my  fault.  I  was  a-'urryin' 
along  when  I  saw  miss  'ere  a-rollin'  in  the  wet 
with  her  humberellar,  and  I'  ad  to  pick  her  up. 
She's  that  muddy  we  were  afeard  they'd  give 
it  her  over  the  way — her  mar's  away.  So  I  told 
her  as  you'd  tidy  her  up  a  bit.  Come  along, 
missy.  Rebecca's  got  a  good  'eart,  has  Rebecca ; 
she'll  clean  you  nicely,  you'll  see." 


THE  OPPOSITE  HO  USE.  137 

For  at  the  sound  of  Rebecca's  sharp  voice 
poor  Peggy  had  slunk  back  into  the  friendly 
gloom  of  the  staircase.  But  she  came  creeping 
forward  now,  so  that  Reddy  saw  her. 

"  Lor'  !"  said  the  big  girl,  "  little  miss  from 
the  hopposite  winder,  to  be  sure." 

This  quite  restored  Peggy's  courage. 

"Have  you  seen  me  at  the  window  ?"  she. 
said.  "  How  funny  !  I've  looked  at  you 
lotses  and  lotses  of  times,  but  I  never  thought 
of  you  looking  at  me." 

To  which  both  sisters  replied  with  their 
favorite  exclamation,  "  Lor'  !" 

Just  then  came  a  voice  from  inside. 

"  Shut  the  door  there,  Rebecca,  can't  you  ? 
If  there's  one  thing  I  can't  abide,  and  you 
might  know  it,  it's  a  hopen  door,  and  the 
draught  right  on  baby's  head." 

Rebecca  took  Peggy  by  the  hand  and  drew 
her  into  the  room,  and  while  she  was  relating 
the  story  of  little  missy's  misfortunes  to  her 
mother,  little  missy  looked  round  with  the 
greatest  interest. 

It  was  a  small  room,  but  oh,  how  full  of 
children  !  Dinner  was  being  got  ready  "  against 
father  and  the  boys  coming  home,"  Matilda  said, 
but  where  father  and  the  boys  could  possibly 


138  LITTLE  MISS  PEGGY. 

find  space  to  stand,  much  less  to  sit,  Peggy  lay 
awake  wondering  for  a  long  time  that  night. 
She  counted  over  all  those  already  present,  and 
found  they  were  all  there  except  Lizzie,  the 
lame  girl.  And  besides  the  two  babies  and 
Alfred,  whom  she  knew  by  sight,  she  was 
amazed  to  see  a  fourth,  a  very  tiny  doll  of  a 
thing — the  tiniest  thing  she  had  ever  seen,  but 
which  they  all  were  as  proud  of  as  if  there  had 
never  been  a  baby  among  them  before.  At  this 
moment  it  was  reposing  in  the  arms  of  Mary- 
Hann ;  Light  Smiley,  whose  real  name  was 
Sarah,  you  remember,  was  taking  charge  of  the 
two  big  babies  in  one  corner,  while  Eeddy  and 
her  mother  were  busy  at  the  fire,  and  "  Half  red  " 
was  amusing  himself  quietly  with  some  marbles, 
apparently  his  natural  occupation. 

What  a  lot  of  them  !  Peggy  began  to  feel 
less  sure  that  she  would  like  to  have  as  many 
sisters  as  the  Smileys.  Still  they  all  looked 
happy,  and  their  mother,  whom  Peggy  had 
never  seen  before,  had  really  a  very  kind 
face. 

"  I'll  see  to  the  pot,  Rebecca,"  she  said ; 
"just  you  wipe  missy's  frock  a  bit.  'Twill  be 
none  the  worse,  you'll  see.  And  so  your  dear 
mar's  away,  missy.  I  'ope  the  change'll  do  her 
good." 


THE  OPPOSITE  HOUSE.  139 

"  Yes,  thank  you,"  said  Peggy.  "  She's  gone 
to  the  country.  Did  you  ever  live  in  the 
country  ?     And  was  it  in  a  white  cottage  ?" 

Mrs.  Simpkins  smiled. 

"  No,  missy,  I'm  town-bred.  'Tis  father  as 
knows  all  about  the  country ;  he's  a  Bracken- 
shire  man." 

"  Oh,  yes,"  said  Peggy,  u  I  forgot.  It's  Miss 
Earnskaw's  mother  I  was  thinking  of." 

"  But  father,"  said  Matilda,  "he  can  tell  lots 
of  tales  about  the  country,5' 

"  I  wish  he  was  at  home,"  said  Peggy.  "  But 
I  must  go,  now  my  frock's  cleaned.  Some,  day 
p'r'aps  I'll  come  again.  Thank  you,  Recld}^," 
at  which  Rebecca,  who  had  been  vigorously 
rubbing  Peggy's  skirt,  stared  and  looked  as  if 
she  were  going  to  say  "  Lor'  !"  "  I'm  going  to 
buy  soap-bubble  pipes  at  Mrs.  Whelan's,"  Peggy 
went  on,  for  she  was  losing  her  shyness  now ; 
"  that's  what  I  coined  out  in  the  rain  for. 
We're  going  to  play  at  soap-bubbles  this  after- 
noon, 'cos  it's  too  wet  to  go  out  a  walk." 

All  the  Smileys  listened  with  great  in- 
rerest. 

"Mayn't  Brown — I  mean  Matilda  Jane  — 
come  with  me,  pelease  V  said  Peggy.  "  I'm 
razer  frightened  to  go  to  buy  them  alone  ;  some- 
times that  old  woman  does  look  so  cross." 


140  LITTLE  MISS  PEGGY. 

"  She  looks  what  she  is,  then,"  said  Reddy, 
"  'cept  for  one  thing  ;  she's  awful  good  to  Lizzie. 
She's  a-sittin'  down  there  this  very  minute  as 
is,  is  Lizzie,  to  be  out  o'  the  way  like  when 
mother  and  me's  cleaning,  you  see,  miss." 

Brown  Smiley's  face  had  grown  grave. 

"  I  dursn't  let  Mother  Whelan  see  as  I've  not 
gone,"  she  said,  "  but  if  missy  doesn't  like  to  go 
alone — not  as  she'd  be  sharp  to  the  likes  of  you, 
but  still " 

"  I'll  go,"  said  little  Sarah,  Light  Smiley, 
that  is  to  say.  "  Jest  you  see  to  the  childer,  mil 
ye,  Mary-Hann  ?"  she  shouted  to  the  deaf  sister. 
"  I  won't  be  harf  a  minute." 

"  And  you,  Matilda  Jane,  off  with  you,"  said 
Rebecca,  which  advice  Brown  Smiley  instantly 
followed. 

Sarah  took  Peggy's  hand  to  escort  her  down 
the  dark  staircase  again.  Light  Smiley  was,  of 
all  the  family  perhaps,  Peggy's  favorite.  She 
was  two  years  or  so  older  than  her  little 
opposite  neighbor,  but  she  scarcely  looked  it, 
for  both  she  and  Brown  Smiley  were  small  and 
slight,  and  when  you  came  to  speak  to  them 
both,  Sarah  seemed  a  good  deal  younger  than 
Matilda  ;  she  was  so  much  less  managing  and 
decided  in  manner,  but  on  the  present  occasion 


THE  OPPOSITE  HOUSE.  141 

Peggy  would  have  preferred  the  elder  Smiley, 
for  to  tell  the  truth  her  heart  was  beginning  to 
beat  much  faster  than  usual  at  the  thought  of 
facing  Mrs.  Whelan  in  her  den. 

"  Isn't  you  frightened,  Light  Smiley  ?"  asked 
the  little  girl  when  the  two  stopped,  and  Peggy 
knew  by  this  that  they  must  be  at  the  old 
woman's  door. 

"  Oh,  no,"  Sarah  replied.  "  Tisn't  as  if  we'd 
been  up  to  any  mischief,  you  see.  And 
Lizzie's  there.  She's  mostly  quiet  when  Liz- 
zie's there." 

So  saying  she  pushed  the  door  open.  It  had 
a  bell  inside,  which  forthwith  began  to  tinkle 
loudly,  and  made  Peggy  start.  This  bell  was 
the  pride  of  Mrs.  Whelan's  heart ;  it  made 
such  a  distinction,  she  thought,  between  her 
and  the  rest  of  the  tenants  of  the  house,  and 
the  more  noisily  it  rang  the  better  pleased  she 
was.  Sarah  knew  this,  and  gave  the  door  a 
good  shove,  at  the  same  time  pulling  Peggy 
into  the  room. 

"  What's  it  yer  afther  now,  and  what's  be- 
come of  Matilda  Jane  ?"  called  out  the  old 
woman,  not,  at  the  first  moment,  catching  sight 
of  Peggy. 

"  It's  little  missy  from  over  the  way,"  Sarah 


142  LITTLE  MISS  PBGG  7. 

hastened  to  explain ;  "  she's  come  to  buy  some 
pipes  of  you,  Mother  Whelan." 

Mrs.  Whelan  looked  at  Peggy  where  she 
stood  behind  Sarah,  gravely  staring  about 
her. 

"  To  be  sure,"  she  said  in  her  most  gracious 
tone.  "  "lis  the  beautiful  pipes  I  have.  And 
'tis  proud  I  am  to  say  the  purty  young  lady," 
and  on  she  went  with  a  long  flattering  speech 
about  Peggy's  likeness  to  her  "  swate  mother," 
and  inquiries  after  the  lady's  health,  all  the 
time  she  was  reaching  down  from  a  high  shelf 
an  old  broken  cardboard  box,  containing  her 
stock  of  clay  pipes. 

Peggy  did  not  answer.  In  the  first  place, 
thanks  to  the  old  woman's  Irish  accent  and 
queer  way  of  speaking,  she  did  not  understand 
a  quarter  of  what  she  said.  Then  her  eyes 
were  busy  gazing  all  about,  and  her  nose  was 
even  less  pleasantly  occupied,  for  there  was  a 
very  strong  smell  in  the  room.  It  was  a  sort 
of  mixed  smell  of  everything — not  like  the 
curious  "  everything  "  smell  that  one  knows  so 
well  in  a  village  shop  in  the  country,  which 
for  my  part  I  think  rather  nice — a  smell  of  tea, 
and  coffee,  and  bacon,  and  nuts,  and  soap,  and 
matting,  and  brown  holland,  and    spices,   and 


torxz  .       Tis   Tl^  bjauff: 
ful    joip£5    1  !n<W£ .   /\nd 

tis    f>roud  1  &m.  to  say 
tta   [ourty  voung  lady" 
and  on  5n£  wLnfwifh 
ZX   Ion  J   flcstr^rinc^  spuch 
2vt)Oui    T*i£oys  likiniss 
to  kr      iwat£  rnotkir'JoAnoi   inauiriis  aft^r 
tin    l^dys     kaW%,a/|    rlai  tinu   ski  was 
Aching  down    from    <*   kigk   shzlf  <\n  old 
broktn    Cc\rd  board    box,  corttaining  hzr 
stock  of  dcsy    pipzS.    * 


THE  OPPOSITE  HOUSE  .  143 

dried  herbs,  all  mixed  together,  but  with  a 
clean  feeling  about  it — no,  the  smell  in  Mrs. 
Whelan's  was  much  stuffier  and  snuffier.  For 
joined  to  the  odor  of  all  the  things  I  have 
named  was  that  of  herrings  and  tobacco 
smoke,  and,  I  rather  fear,  of  whisky.  And 
besides  all  this,  I  am  very  much  afraid  that 
not  only  a  spring  cleaning,  but  a  summer  or 
autumn  or  winter  cleaning,  were  unknown 
events  in  the  old  woman's  room.  No  wonder 
that  Peggy,  fresh  from  the  soft-soap-and-water 
smell  of  the  Siinpkins'  upstairs,  sniffed  un- 
easily and  wished  Mrs.  Whelan  would  be  quick 
with  the  pipes  ;  her  head  felt  so  queer  and 
confused. 

But  looking  round  she  caught  sight  of  a  very 
interesting  object ;  this  was  Lizzie,  rocking 
herself  gently  on  her  chair  in  a  corner,  and 
seeming  quite  at  home.  Peggy  ran — no,  she 
couldn't  run,  the  room  was  so  crowded,  for  a 
counter  stood  across  one  end,  and  in  the  other 
a  big  square  old  bedstead,  and  between  the 
two  were  a  table  and  one  or  two  chairs  and  an 
old  tumble-down  chest  of  drawers — made  her 
way  over  to  Lizzie. 

"  How  do  you  do,  Crip — Lizzie,  I  mean  ?  I 
hope  your  pains  aren't  very  bad  to-day  ?" 


144  LITTLE  MISS  PEGG  Y. 

"  Not  so  very,  thank  you,  miss,"  said  the  poor 
girl.  "  It's  nice  and  quiet  in  here,  and  the  quiet 
does  me  a  deal  of  good." 

Peggy  sighed. 

"  I  don't  like  being  very  quiet,"  she  said.  "  I 
wish  you  could  come  over  to  the  nursery ;  now 
that  Hal  and  baby  and  nurse  are  away  it's 
dreffully  quiet." 

"  But  you  wouldn't  care  to  change  places 
with  me,  would  you,  missy  ?"  said  Lizzie.  "  I'm 
thinking  you'd  have  noise  enough  if  you  were 
upstairs  sometimes.  My — it  do  go  through 
one's  head,  to  be  sure." 

Peggy  looked  very  sympathizing. 

"  Aren't  you  frightened  of  her  ?"  she  whis- 
pered, nodding  gently  toward  Mrs.  Whelan. 

"  Not  a  bit  of  it,"  said  Lizzie,  also  lowering 
her  voice  ;  "  she's  right  down  good  to  me,  is  the 
old  body.  She  do  scold  now  and  then  and  no 
mistake,  but  bless  you,  she'd  never  lay  a  finger 
on  me,  and  it's  no  wonder  she's  in  a  taking  with 
the  children  when  they  kicks  up  a  hextra  row, 
so  to  say." 

Peggy's  mouth  had  opened  gradually 
during  this  speech,  and  now  it  remained 
so.  She  could  not  understand  half  Lizzie's 
words,  but   she   had   no    time    to  ask  for  an 


THE  OPPOSITE  HO  USE.  145 

explanation,  for  just  then  Light  Smiley  called 
to  her  to  come  and  look  at  the  pipes  which 
were  by  this  time  waiting  for  her  on  the 
counter. 

They  were  the  cleanest  things  in  the  room — 
the  only  clean  things  it  seemed  to  Peggy  as  she 
lifted  them  up  one  by  one  to  choose  six  very 
nice  ones.  And  then  she  paid  her  pennies  and 
ran  back  to  shake  hands  with  Lizzie  and  say 
good-by  to  her — she  wondered  if  she  should 
shake  hands  with  Mrs.  Whelan  too,  but  fortu- 
nately the  old  woman  did  not  seem  to  expect  it, 
and  Peggy  felt  very  thankful,  for  her  brown 
wrinkled  hands  looked  sadly  dirty  to  the  little 
girl,  dirtier  perhaps  than  they  really  were. 

"  I  like  your  house  much  better  than  hers," 
said  Peggy,  when  she  and  Light  Smiley  were 
down  at  the  bottom  of  the  stairs  a«;ain ;  "  it 
smells  much  nicer." 

"  Mother  and  Rebecca's  all  for  scrubbing, 
that's  certing,"  replied  Sarah,  with  a  smile  of 
pleasure — of  course  all  little  girls  like  to  hear 
their  homes  praised — "  but  she's  not  bad  to 
Lizzie,  is  old  Whelan,"  as  if  that  settled  the 
whole  question,  and  Peggy  felt  she  must  not 
say  any  more  about  the  dirty  room. 

Light  Smiley  felt  it  her  duty  to  see  "missy  " 


146  LITTLE  MISS  PEOO  7. 

safe  across  the  street.  Peggy's  hands  were 
laden  with  the  precious  pipes,  and  Sarah  car- 
ried the  big  umbrella  over  the  two  of  them. 
They  chattered  as  they  picked  their  way 
through  the  mud  and  stood  for  a  minute  or  two 
at  the  yard  door  of  Peggy's  house.  Light 
Smiley  peeped  in. 

"  Lor',"  she  said,  expressing  her  feelings  in 
the  same  way  as  her  sisters,  "  yours  must  be  a 
fine  house,  missy.  All  that  there  back  yard  for 
yerselves." 

u  You  should  see  the  droincl-room,  and  mam- 
ma's room  ;  there's  a  marble  top  to  the  washing- 
stand,"  said  Peggy,  with  pride. 

"  Lor',"  said  Sarah  again. 

"  Some  day,"  Peggy  went  on,  excited  by 
Sarah's  admiration,  "  some  day  when  my  mam- 
ma comes  home,  I'm  going  to  ask  her  to  let  me 
have  a  tea-party  of  you  all — in  the  nursery,  you 
know.  The  nursery's  nice  too,  at  least  I  dare 
say  you'd  like  it." 

"Is  that  the  winder  where  you  sees  us 
from  ?"  asked  Sarah.  "  Matilda  Jane  says  as 
how  we  could  see  you  too  quite  plain  at 
it  if  you  put  your  face  quite  close  to  the 
glass." 

"  I  can't,"  said  Peggy.     "  There's  the  toilet- 


THE  OPPOSITE  HOUSE.  147 

table  close  to  the  window — at  least,  it's  really 
a  chest  of  drawers,  you  know,  but  there's  a 
looking-glass  on  the  top  and  a  white  cover,  so 
it's  like  a  toilet-table  for  nurse,  though  it's  too 
high  up  for  me.  I  have  to  stand  on  a  chair  if 
I  want  to  see  myself  popperly." 

"  Dear  !"  said  Sarah  sympathizingly. 

"  And  I  can  only  see  you  by  scrooging  into 
the  corner,  and  the  curting's  there.  No,  you 
couldn't  ever  see  me  well  up  at  the  window. 
But  that's  not  the  nursery  where  we'd  have  tea. 
That's  only  the  night  nursery.  The  other  one's 
to  the  front ;  that's  the  window  where  you  can 
see  the  hills  far  away." 

"  In  the  country,  where  father  used  to  live. 
Oh,  yes,  I  know.  I  heerd  Matilda  Jane  a-asking 
'im  about  it,"  said  Sarah. 

"  Oh,  and  did  he  tell  you  any  more  ?  Do  ask 
him  if  it's  really  not  far  to  get  there,"  said 
Peggy  eagerly. 

Sarah  nodded. 

"  I  won't  forget,"  she  said  ;  "  and  then,  missy, 
when  you  axes  us  to  the  tea-party,  I'll  be  able 
to  tell  you  all  about  it." 

She  did  not  mean  to  be  cunning,  poor  little 
girl,  but  she  was  rather  afraid  Peggy  might 
forget    about  the    tea-part)',  and    she    thought 


148  LITTLE  MISS  PEGQ  Y. 

it  was  not  a  bad  plan  to  say  something  which 
might  help  to  make  her  remember  it. 

u  Yes,"  Peggy  replied,  "  that  would  be  lovely. 
Do  make  him  tell  all  you  can,  Light  Smiley. 
Oh,  I  do  wish  mamma  would  come  home  now, 
and  I'd  ask  her  about  the  tea-party  immediate- 
ly. I'm  sure  she'd  let  me,  for  she  likes  us  to  be 
kind  to  poor  people." 

Sarah  drew  herself  up  a  little  at  this. 

"  We're  not — not  to  say  poor  folk,"  she  said, 
with  some  dignity.  "  There's  a  many  of  us,  and 
it's  hard  enough  work,  but  still " 

"  Oh,  don't  be  vexed,"  said  Peggy.  "  I  know 
you're  not  like — like  beggars,  you  know.  And 
I  think  we're  rather  poor  too.  Mamma  often 
says  papa  has  to  work  hard." 

Sarah  grew  quite  friendly  again. 

"  I  take  it  folks  isn't  often  rich  when  they've 
a  lot  of  children,"  she  began,  but  the  sound  of 
a  window  opening  across  the  street  made  her 
start.  "  Bless  me,"  she  said,  "  I  must  run. 
There's  Rebecca  a-going  to  scold  me  for  stand- 
ing talking.  Good-by,  miss,  I'll  not  forget  to 
ask  father." 

And  Sarah  darted  away,  carrying  with  her 
the  umbrella,  quite  forgetting  that  it  was 
Peggy's.     Peggy  forgot  it  too,  and  it  was  not 


THE  OPPOSITE  HOUSE.  149 

raining  so  fast  now,  so  there  was  less  to  remind 
her.  She  shut  the  door  and  ran  across  the 
yard.  The  house  door  still  stood  open,  and  she 
made  her  way  up  to  the  nursery  without  meet- 
ing any  one. 


150  LITTLE  MISS  PEGG  T. 


CHAPTEK  X. 


"soap-bubbling." 


"And  every  color  see  I  there." 

— The  Rainbow,  Chaeles  Lamb. 

There  was  no  one  upstairs.  Miss  Earnshaw 
had  gone  down  to  the  kitchen  to  iron  the  seams 
of  her  work,  without  giving  special  thought  to 
Peggy.  If  any  one  had  asked  her  where  the 
child  was  she  would  have  probably  answered 
that  she  was  counting  over  her  money  in  the 
night  nursery.  So  she  was  rather  surprised 
when  coming  upstairs  again  in  a  few  minutes 
she  was  met  by  Peggy  flying  to  meet  her  with 
the  pipes  in  her  hand. 

"  I've  got  them,  Miss  Earnshaw  ;  aren't  they 
beauties  ?"  she  cried.  "  And  I  don't  think  my 
frock's  reely  spoiled.  It  only  just  looks  a  little 
funny  where  the  mud  was." 

"  Bless  me !"  exclaimed  the  young  dress- 
maker, "  wherever  have  you  been,  Miss  Peggy  ? 
No,  your  f rock'll  brush  all  right ;  but  you  don't 


"  SOAP-B  UBBLING. "  151 

mean  to  say  you've  been  out  in  the  rain  ?  You 
should  have  asked  nie,  my  dear." 

She  spoke  rather  reproachfully  ;  she  was  a 
little  vexed  with  herself  for  not  having  looked 
after  the  child  better,  but  Peggy  was  one  of 
those  quiet  u  old-fashioned  "  children  who  never 
seem  to  need  looking  after. 

"  I  did  ask  you,"  said  Peggy,  opening  wide 
her  eyes,  "  and  you  said,  '  Very  well,  my 
dear.' " 

Miss  Earnshaw  couldn't  help  smiling. 

"  I  must  have  been  thinking  more  of  your 
new  frock  than  of  yourself,"  she  said.  "How- 
ever, I  hope  it's  done  you  no  harm.  Your 
stockings  aren't  wet  ?" 

"  Oh,  no,"  said  Peggy  ;  "  my  slippers  were 
a  weeny  bit  wet,  so  I've  changed  them.  My 
frock  wouldn't  have  been  dirtied,  only  I 
felled  in  the  wet,  Miss  Earnshaw,  but  Brown 
— one  of  the  little  girls,  you  know,  that  lives 
in  the  house  where  the  shop  is — picked  me 
up,  and  there's  no  harm  done,  is  there  ?  And 
I've  got  the  pipes,  and  won't  my  brothers  be 
peleased,"  she  chirruped  on  in  her  soft,  cheery 
way. 

Miss  Earnshaw  could  not  blame  her,  though 
she  determined  to  be  more  on   the  lookout  for 


152  LITTLE  MISS  PEGGY. 

the  future.  And  soon  after  came  twelve  o'clock, 
and  then  the  young  dressmaker  was  obliged 
to  go,  bidding  Peggy  "  Good-by  till  Monday 
morning." 

The  boys  came  home  wet  and  hungry,  and 
grumbling  a  good  deal  at  the  rainy  half -holiday. 
Peggy  had  hidden  the  six  pipes  in  her  little 
bed,  but  after  dinner  she  made  the  three  boys 
shut  their  eyes  while  she  fetched  them  out  and 
laid  them  in  a  row  on  the  table.  Then,  "  You 
may  look  now,"  she  said ;  "  it's  my  apprise," 
and  she  stood  at  one  side  to  enjoy  the  sight  of 
their  pleasure. 

"  Hurrah  !"  cried  Terry,  "  pipes  for  soap-bub- 
bles !     Isn't  it  jolly  ?     Isn't  Peggy  a  brick  ?" 

"  Dear  Peggy,"  said  Baldwin,  holding  up  his 
plump  face  for  a  kiss. 

"Poor  old  Peg-top,"  said  Thor  patroniz- 
ingly. "  They  seem  very  good  pipes ;  and 
as  there's  six  of  them,  you  and  I  can  break 
one  apiece  if  we  like,  Terry,  without  its  mat- 
tering." 

Peggy  looked  rather  anxious  at  this. 

"Don't  try  to  break  them,  Thor,  pelease," 
she  said  ;  "  for  if  you  beginned  breaking  it 
might  go  on,  and  then  it  would  be  all  spoiled 
like  the  last  time,  for  there's  no  fun  in  soap- 
bubbling  by  turns." 


"  80AP-B  UBBLING."  153 

"No,  that's  quite  true,"  said  Terry.  "You 
remember  the  last  time  how  stupid  it  was.  But 
of  course  we  won't  break  any,  'specially  as 
they're  yours,  Peggy.  We'll  try  and  keep  them 
good  for  another  time." 

"Did  you  spend  all  your  pennies  for  them?" 
asked  Baldwin  sympathizingly. 

"  Not  quite  all,"  said  Peggy.  "  I  choosed 
them  myself,"  she  went  on  importantly.  "  There 
was  a  lot  in  a  box." 

u  Why,  where  did  you  get  them  ?  You  didn't 
go  yourself  to  old  Whelan's,  surely?"  asked 
Thor  sharply. 

"  Yes,  I  runnecl  across  the  road,"  said  Peggy. 
"  You  always  get  them  there,  Thor." 

"  But  it's  quite  different.  I  can  tell  you 
mamma  won't  be  very  pleased  when  she  comes 
home  to  hear  you've  been  so  disobedient." 

Poor  Peggy's  face,  so  bright  and  happy, 
clouded  over,  and  she  seemed  on  the  point  of 
bursting  into  tears. 

"  I  weren't  disobedient,"  she  began.  "  Miss 
Earnshaw  said,  '  Very  well,  dear,'  and  so  I 
thought " 

"  Of  course,"  interrupted  Terry ;  "  Peggy's 
never  disobedient,  Thor.  We'll  ask  mamma 
when  she  comes  home ;  but  she  won't  be  vexed 


154  LITTLE  MISS  PEGGY. 

with  you,  darling.  You  won't  need  to  go  again 
before  then." 

"  ]STo,"  said  Peggy,  comforted,  "  I  don't  want 
to  go  again,  Terry  dear.  It  doesn't  smell  very 
nice  in  the  shop.  But  the  children's  house  is 
very  clean,  Terry.  I'm  sure  mamma  would  let 
us  go  there." 

"  Those  Simpkinses  over  old  Whelan's,"  said 
Terry.  "  Oh,  yes,  I  know  mother  goes  there 
herself  sometimes,  though  as  for  that  she  goes 
to  old  Whelan's  too.  But  we're  wasting  time ; 
let's  ask  Fanny  for  a  tin  basin  and  lots  of 
soap." 

They  were  soon  all  four  very  happy  at  the 
pretty  play.  The  prettiness  of  it  was  what 
Peggy  enjoyed  the  most ;  the  boys,  boy-like, 
thought  little  but  of  who  could  blow  the 
biggest  bubbles,  which,  as  everybody  knows, 
are  seldom  as  rich  in  color  as  smaller  ones. 

"  I  like  the  rainbowiest  ones  the  best,"  said 
Peggy.  "  I  don't  care  for  those  'normous  ones 
Thor  makes.     Do  you,  Baldwin  ?" 

Baldwin  stopped  to  consider, 

"  I  suppose  very  big  things  aren't  never  so 
pretty  as  littler  things,"  he  said  at  last,  when  a 
sort  of  grunt  from  Terry  interrupted  him. 
Terry    could    not    speak;   his  cheeks  were  all 


inty  wxre  soon  all  four  \/iry  n<\bpy 

of  if  was    what  P*g<£y  most*   £n: 
joyed  t[\l  most;  tUi  bo/i",   boy- 

lila,  tnougkf*  lit+U  bur  of  who 

could  blow  tir\i   Oi£&st  t>u(oJoIi5 
which,  AS  ivirybody  knows 
20T5    sslolorn  &s  rich    in 
colour  C\S  srncxlkr 

om5, 


"  SOAP-B  UBBLTNG."  155 

puffed  out  round  the  pipe,  and  he  dared  not  to 
stop  blowing.  He  could  only  grunt  and  nod 
his  head  sharply  to  catch  their  attention  to  the 
wonderful  triumph  in  soap-bubbles  floating  be- 
fore his  nose.  There  was  a  big  one,  as  big  as 
any  of  Thorold's,  and  up  on  the  top  of  it  a 
lovely  every-colored  wee  one,  the  most  brilliant 
the  children  had  ever  seen — a  real  rainbow 
ball. 

They  all  clapped  their  hands,  or  at  least 
Peofoy  and  Baldwin  did  so.  Thorold  shouted, 
"  Hurrah  for  Terry's  new  invention.  It's  like 
a  monkey  riding  on  an  elephant."  But  Peggy 
did  not  think  that  was  a  pretty  idea. 

"  It's  more  like  one  of  the  very  little  stars 
sitting  on  the  sun's  knee,"  was  her  comparison, 
which  Baldwin  corrected  to  the  moon — the  sun 
was  too  yellow,  he  said,  to  be  like  a  no-color 
bubble. 

Then  they  all  set  to  work  to  try  to  make 
double  bubbles,  and  Thor  actually  managed  to 
make  three,  one  on  the  top  of  the  other.  And 
Terry  made  a  very  big  one  run  ever  so  far  along 
the  carpet  without  breaking,  bobbing  and 
dancing  along  as  he  blew  it  ever  so  gently. 

And  as  a  finish-up  they  all  four  put  their 
pipes  into  the  basin  and  blew  together,  making 


156  LITTLE  MISS  PEGGY. 

what  they  called  "  bubble-pudding,"  till  the 
pudding  seemed  to  get  angry  and  gurgled  and 
wobbled  itself  up  so  high  that  it  ended  by 
toppling  over,  and  coming  to  an  untimely  end 
as  a  little  spot  of  soapy  water  on  the  table. 

"  Pride  must  have  a  fall,  you  see,"  said 
Thor. 

"  It's  like  the  story  of  the  frog  that  tried  to 
be  as  big  as  an  ox,"  said  Terence,  at  which  they 
all  laughed  as  a  very  good  joke. 

Altogether  Peggy's  pipes  turned  out  a  great 
success,  and  the  rainy  afternoon  passed  very 
happily. 

The  Sunday  that  came  after  that  Saturday 
was  showery,  sunny,  and  rainy  by  turns,  like  a 
child  who  having  had  a  great  fit  of  crying  and 
sobbing  can't  get  over  it  all  at  once,  and  keeps 
breaking  into  little  bursts  of  tears  again,  long 
after  the  sorrow  is  all  over.  But  by  Monday 
morning  the  world — Peggy's  world,  that  is  to 
say — seemed  to  have  quite  recovered  its  spirits. 
The  sun  came  out  smiling  with  pleasure,  and 
even  the  town  birds,  who  know  so  little  about 
trees  and  grass  and  flowersand  all  those  delight- 
ful things,  hopped  about  and  chirruped  as 
nicely  as  could  be.  The  boys  set  off  to  school 
in   good   spirits,  and  while  Fanny  was  taking 


"  SOAP-B  UBBLWG. "  I57 

down  the  breakfast-things  Peggy  got  out  the 
little  red  shoes,  and  set  them  on  the  window- 
sill,  where  they  had  not  been  for  several 
days. 

"  There,  dear  little  red  shoes,"  she  said 
softly,  "  yon  may  look  out  again  at  the  pretty 
sun  and  the  sky,  and  the  fairy  cottage  up  on 
the  mounting.  You  can  see  it  quite  plain  to- 
day, dear  little  shoes.  The  clouds  is  all  gone 
away,  and  it's  shinin'  out  all  white  and 
beautiful,  and  I  dare  say  the  mamma's  standin' 
at  the  door  with  the  baby — or  pVaps,"  Peggy 
was  never  very  partial  to  the  baby,  "  it's  asleep 
in  its  cradle.  Yes,  I  think  that's  it.  And  the 
hens  and  cocks  and  chickens  is  all  pecking 
about,  and  the  cows  mooin'.  Oh,  how  I  do  wish 
Ave  could  go  and  see  them  all,  don't  you,  dear 
little  shoes  ?" 

She  stood  gazing  up  at  the  tiny  white  speck, 
to  other  eyes  almost  invisible,  as  if  by  much 
gazing  it  would  grow  nearer  and  clearer  to  her ; 
there  was  a  smile  on  her  little  face ;  sweet  visions 
floated  before  Peggy's  mind  of  a  day,  "some 
day,"  when  mamma  should  take  her  out  "to 
the  country,"  to  see  for  herself  the  lovely 
and  delightful  sights  that  same  dear  mamma 
had  described. 


158  LITTLE  MISS  PEGG  Y. 

Suddenly  Fanny's  voice  brought  her  back  to 
present  things.  Fanny  ivas  looking  rather 
troubled. 

"  Miss  Peggy,  love,"  she  said,  "  cook  and  I 
can't  think  what's  making  Miss  Earnshaw  so 
late  this  morning.  She's  always  so  sharp  to 
her  time.  I  don't  like  leaving  you  alone,  but 
I  don't  know  what  else  to  do.  Monday's  the 
orkardest  day,  for  we're  always  so  busy  down- 
stairs, and  your  papa  was  just  saying  this 
morning  that  I  was  to  tell  Miss  Earnshaw  to 
take  you  a  nice  long  walk  toward  the  country, 
seeing  as  it's  so  fine  a  day.  It  will  be  right 
down  tiresome,  it  will,  if  she  don't  come." 

"  Never  mind,  Fanny,"  said  Peggy.  "  I  don't 
mind  much  being  alone,  and  I  dare  say  Miss 
Earnshaw  will  come.  I  should  like  to  go. a  nice 
walk  to-day,"  she  could  not  help  adding,  with 
a  longing  glance  out  at  the  sunny  sky. 

"  To  be  sure  you  would,"  said  Fanny,  "  and 
it  stands  to  reason  as  you  won't  be  well  if  you 
don't  get  no  fresh  air.  I  hope  to  goodness  the 
girl  will  come,  but  I  doubt  it — her  mother's  ill 
maybe,  and  she's  no  one  to  send.  Well,  dear, 
you'll  try  and  amuse  yourself,  and  I'll  get  on 
downstairs  as  fast  as  I  can." 

Peggy  went  back  to  the  window  and  stood 


"  SOAP-BUBBLING."  159 

there  for  a  minute  or  two,  feeling  rather  sad. 
It  did  seem  hard  that  things  should  go  so  very 
•'  contrarily  "  sometimes. 

"  Just  when  it's  such  a  fine  day,"  she  thought, 
"  Miss  Earnshaw  doesn't  come.  And  on  Satur- 
day when  we  couldn't  have  goned  a  walk  she 
did  come.  Only  on  Saturday  it  did  rain  very 
badly  in  the  afternoon  and  she  didn't  stay,  so 
that  wasn't  a  pity." 

Then  her  thoughts  went  wandering  off  to 
what  the  dressmaker  had  told  her  of  having  to 
go  a  long  way  out  into  the  country  on  Saturday 
afternoon,  and  how  wet  and  muddy  the  lanes 
would  be.  Peggy  sighed ;  she  couldn't  believe 
country  lanes  could  ever  be  anything  but 
delightful. 

"  Oh,  how  very  pretty  they  must  be  to-day," 
she  said  to  herself,  "  with  all  the  little  flowers 
coming  peeping  out,  and  the  birds  singing,  and 
the    cocks    and    hens,  and    the    cows,  and — 

and "     She  was  becoming  a  little  confused. 

Indeed  she  wasn't  quite  sure  what  a  "  lane  " 
really  meant — she  knew  it  was  some  kind  of  a 
way  to  walk  along,  but  she  had  heard  the 
word  "  path  "  too — were  "lane"  and  "  path  " 
quite  the  same  ?  she  wondered.  And  while 
she    was    wondering    and   gazing   out   of   the 


160  LITTLE  MISS  PEGGY. 

window,  she  was  startled  all  of  a  sudden 
by  a  soft,  faint  tap  at  the  door.  So  soft  and 
faint  that  if  it  had  been  at  the  window  instead 
of  at  the  door  it  might  have  been  taken  for  the 
flap  of  a  sparrow's  wing  as  it  flew  past.  Peggy 
stood  quite  still  and  listened  ;  she  heard  noth- 
ing more,  and  was  beginning  to  think  it  must 
have  been  her  fancy,  when  again  it  came,  and 
this  time  rather  more  loudly.  "  Tap,  tap." 
Yes,  "  certingly,"  thought  Peggy,  "  there's 
somebody  there." 

She  felt  a  little,  a  very  little  frightened. 

Should  she  go  to  the  door  and  peep  out,  or 
should  she  call  "  Come  in  ?"  she  asked  herself. 
And  one  or  two  of  the  "  ogre "  stories  that 
Thorold  and  Terry  were  so  fond  of  in  their 
"  Grimm's  Tales"  would  keep  coming  into  her 
head — stories  of  little  princesses  shut  up  alone, 
or  of  giants  prowling  about  to  find  a  nice 
tender  child  for  supper.  Peggy  shivered.  But 
after  all  what  was  the  use  of  standing  there 
fancying  things  ?  It  was  broad,  sunny  daylight 
— not  at  all  the  time  for  ogres  or  such-like  to 
be  abroad.  Peggy  began  to  laugh  at  her  own 
silliness. 

"  Very  likely,"  she  thought,  "  it's  Miss  Earn- 
shaw  playing  me  a  trick  to  apprise  me,  'cos  she's 
so  late  this  morning." 


"  SOAP-B  UBBLTNQ. "  161 

This  idea  quite  took  away  her  fear. 

"  It's  you,  Miss  Earnshaw,  I'm  quite  sure  it's 
you,"  she  called  out ;  "  come  in  quick,  you 
fimny  Miss  Earnshaw.     Come  in." 

But  though  the  door  slowly  opened,  no  Miss 
Earnshaw  appeared.  Peggy  began  to  think 
this  was  carrying  fun  too  far. 

"  Why  don't  you  come  in  quick  ?"  she  said, 
her  voice  beginning  to  tremble  a  little. 

The  door  opened  a  little  further. 

"  Missy,"  said  a  low  voice,  a  childish,  hesitat- 
ing voice,  quite  different  from  Miss  Earnshaw's 
quick  bright  way  of  speaking.  "  Missy,  please, 
it's  me,  Sarah,  please,  miss." 

And  the  door  opened  more  widely,  and  in 
came,  slowly  and  timidly  still,  a  small  figure 
well  known  to  Peggy.  It  was  none  other  than 
Light  Smiley. 

Peggy  could  hardly  speak.  She  was  so  very 
much  astonished. 

"  Light  Smiley — Sarah,  I  mean,"  she  ex- 
claimed, "  how  did  you  come  ?  Did  you  see 
Fanny  ?     Did  she  tell  you  to  come  upstairs  ?" 

Sarah  shook  her  head. 

"  I  don't  know  who  Fanny  is,  missy.  I  just 
coined  in  of  myself.  The  doors  was  both  open, 
and  I  didn't  meet  nobody.     I  didn't  like  for  to 


162  LITTLE  MISS  PEOO  7. 

ring  or  knock.  I  thought  mebbe  your  folk'd 
scold  if  I  did — a  gel  like  me.  Mother  knows 
I've  corned ;  she  said  as  how  I'd  better  bring  it 
myself." 

And  she  held  up  what  Peggy  had  not 
noticed  that  she  was  carrying — the  big  um- 
brella that  had  caused  so  much  trouble  two 
days  before. 

"  The  nurubrella,"  cried  Peggy.  "  Oh,  thank 
you,  Sarah,  for  bringing  it  back.  I  never 
thought  of  it !     How  stupid  it  was  of  me  !" 

"  Mother  told  me  for  to  bring  it  to  the  door 
and  give  it  in,"  Sarah  went  on.  "  I  didn't  mean 
to  come  upstairs,  but  the  door  was  open,  you 
see,  miss,  and  I  knowed  your  nussery  was  at 
the  top  and — I  'ope  it's  not  a  liberty." 

"  No,  no,"  said  Peggy,  her  hospitable  feelings 
awakening  to  see  that  her  little  visitor  was  still 
standing  timidly  in  the  doorway,  "  I'm  very 
glad  you've  corned.  You  don't  know  how  glad 
I  am.  It's  so  lonely  all  by  myself — Miss 
Earnshaw  hasn't  come  this  morning:.  Come  in 
Light  Smiley,  do  come  in.  Oh,  how  nice  !  I 
can  show  you  the  mountings  and  the  little 
white  cottage  shining  in  the  sun." 

She  drew  Sarah  forward.  But  before  the 
child  looked  out  of  the  window,  her  eyes  were 
caught  by  the  tiny  red  slippers  on  the  sill. 


"  SOAPS  UBBLfflG."  163 

"Lor',"  she  said  breathlessly,  "  what  splendid 
shoes  !  Are  they  for — for  your  dolly,  missy  ? 
They're  too  small  for  a  baby,  bain't  they  ?" 

"Oh,  yes,"  said  Peggy,  "they're  too  small 
for  our  baby,  a  great  deal.  But  then  he's  very 
fat." 

"  They'd ,  be  too  small  for  ours  too,  though 
she's  not  a  hextra  fine  child  for  her  ao;e.  She 
were  a  very  poor  specimint  for  a  good  bit, 
mother  says,  but  she's  pickin'  up  now  she's  got 
some  teeth  through.  My — but  them  shoes  is 
neat,  to  be  sure  !     They  must  be  for  a  dolly." 

"  I've,  no  doll  they'd  do  for,"  said  Peggy,  "  but 
I  like  them  just  for  theirselves.  I  always  put 
them  to  stand  there  on  a  fine  day ;  they  like  to 
look  out  of  the  window." 

Sarah  stared  at  Pes^y  as  if  she  thought  she 
was  rather  out  of  her  mind  ! —  indeed  the  chil- 
dren at  the  back  had  hinted  to  each  other  that 
missy,  for  all  she  was  a  real  little  lady,  was  very 
funny-like  sometimes.  But  Peggy  was  quite 
unconscious  of  it. 

"  Lor',"  said  Sarah  at  last,  "  how  can  shoes 
see  ?     They've  no  eyes,  missy." 

"  But  you  can  fancy  they  have.  Don't  you 
ever  play  in  your  mind  at  fancying  V  asked 
Peggy.     "  I  think  it's  the  nicest  part  of  being 


164  LITTLE  MISS  PEOQ  Y. 

alive,  and  mamma  says  it's  no  harm  if  we  keep 
remembering  it's  not  real.  But  never  mind 
about  that — do  look  at  the  hills,  Sarah,  and  oh, 
can  you  see  the  white  speck  shining  in  the  sun  ? 
That's  the  cottage — I  call  it  my  cottage,  but 
p'r'aps,"  rather  unwillingly,  "it's  the  one  youi 
papa  lived  in  when  he  was  little." 

"  D'ye  really  think  so  ?"  said  Sarah  eagerly. 
"It's  Brackenshire  over  there,  to  be  sure,  and 
father's  'oine  was  up  an  'ill — deary  me,  to 
think  as  it  might  be  the  very  place.  See  it  ? 
to  be  sure  I  do,  as  plain  as  plain.  It  do  seem 
a  good  bit  off,  but  father  he  says  it's  no  more'n 
a  tidy  walk.  He's  almost  promised  he'll  take 
some  on  us  there  some  fine  day  when  he's  an 
'oliday.  I  axed  'im  all  I  could  think  of, 
missy — all  about  the  cocks  and  'ens  and  cows 
and  pigses." 

"Not  pigs,"  interrupted  Peggy.  "I  don't 
like  pigs,  and  I  won't  have  them  in  my  cottage." 

"  I  wasn't  a-talking  of  your  cottage,"  said 
Sarah  humbly.  "  'Twas  what  father  told  us 
of  all  the  things  he  seed  in  the  country  when 
he  were  a  boy  there.  There's  lots  of  pigses  in 
Brackenshire." 

"  Never  mind.  We  won't  have  any,"  persist- 
ed Peggy.     "  But  oh,  Light  Smiley,  do  look  how 


"SOAP-BUBBLING."  165 

splendid  the  sky  is — all  so  blue  and  all  so 
shiny.  I  never  sawed  snch  a  lovely  day.  I 
would  like  to  go  a  walk." 

"  And  wliy  shouldn't  you  ?"  asked  Sarah. 

"  There's  no  one  to  take  me,"  sighed  Peggy. 
"  It's  Monday,  and  Fanny's  very  busy  on  Mon- 
days, and  I  told  you  that  tiresome  Miss  Earn- 
shaw's  not  corned." 

Sarah  considered  a  little. 

"  Tell  you  what,  missy,"  she  said,  "  why 
shouldn't  we — you  and  me — go  a  walk  ?  I'm 
sure  motker'd  let  me.  I've  got  my  'at  all  'andy, 
and  I  did  say  to  mother  if  so  as  missy  seed  me 
I  might  stop  a  bit,  and  she  were  quite  agree- 
able. I'm  a  deal  older  nor  you,  and  I  can  take 
care  of  you  nicely.  Mother's  training  me  for 
the  nussery." 

Peggy  started  up  in  delight.  She  had  been 
half-sitting  on  the  window-sill,  beside  the  shoes. 

"  Oh,  Light  Smile}^"  she  said,  "  how  lovely  ! 
Of  course  you  could  take  care  of  me.  We'd 
go  up  Fernley  Road,  straight  up — that's  the 
way  to  Brackenshire,  you  know,  and  p'r'aps  we 
mi^ht  go  far  enough  to  see  the  white  cottage 
plainer.  If  it's  not  a  very  long  way  to  get 
there,  we'd  be  sure  to  see  it  much  plainer  if  we 
walked  a  mile  or  two.  A  mile  isn't  very  far. 
Oh,  do  let's  go — quick  !  quick  !" 


166  LITTLE  MISS  PEGG  7. 

But  Sarah  stopped  her. 

"  You'd  best  tell  your  folks  first,  missy,"  she 
said.  "  They'll  let  you  go  aud  be  glad  of  it,  I 
should  say,  if  they're  so  busy,  aud  seem'  as  they 
let  you  come  over  to  our  'ouse,  aud  your  mar 
knowin'  us  aud  all." 

"  It  was  Miss  Earnshaw  that  let  me  go,"  said 
Peggy,  "  aud  theu  she  said  she  didn't  know  I'd 
goued.  And  Thor  said — oh,  no,  he  only  said  I 
shouldn't  have  goned  to  the  shop.  But  I'll  ask 
Fanny — I'll  tell  you  what  I'll  do.  I'll  put  on 
my  boots  and  my  hat  and  jacket — you  shall  help 
me  Sarah,  and  then  we'll  go  down  and  I'll  call 
to  Fanny  from  the  top  of  the  kitchen  stairs 
and  ask  her  if  I  may  go  out  with  you,  Sarah, 
dear.     I'm  sure  she'll  say  I  may." 

So  the  two  little  maidens  went  into  the  night 
nursery,  where  Light  Smiley  was  greatly  in- 
terested in  looking  at  her  own  dwelling-place 
from  other  people's  windows,  and  quite  in  her 
element  too,  seeing  that  she  was  being  trained 
for  the  nursery,  in  getting  out  Peggy's  walking 
things,  buttoning  her  boots,  and  all  the  rest 
of  it. 


UP  FERNLEY  ROAD.  167 


CHAPTER  XL 

UP    FERNLEY    ROAD. 

"  But  the  way  is  long  and  toilsome, 
And  the  road  is  drear  and  hard; 
Little  heads  and  hearts  are  aching, 
Little  feet  with  thorns  are  scarred." 

— The  Children's  Journey. 

Light  Smiley  kept  looking  round  the  room 
with  great  satisfaction. 

"  It  is  nice  in  'ere  and  no  mistake,'1  she  said 
at  last.  "  Your  'ats  and  coats  and  frocks  all  in 
a  row,  as  neat  as  neat,  and  these  little  white 
beds  a  si^ht  to  be  seen.  I  should  love  for 
Rebecca  and  Matilda  Jane  to  see  it." 

"  They  will,"  said  Peggy,  "  when  I  avite  you 
all  to  a  tea-party,  you  know." 

Sarah  drew  a  deep  breath.  A  tea-party  in 
these  beautiful  nurseries  seemed  almost  too  good 
ever  to  come  true. 

"  Is  there  a  many  nusseries  as  nice  as  this 
'un,  do  you  think,  missy  ?     I  do  'ope  as  I'll  get 


168  LITTLE  MISS  PEGG  Y. 

into  a  nice  one  when  I'm  big  enough.  One  'ud 
take  a  pride  in  keeping  it  clean  and  tidy." 

"  I  don't  think  this  is  at  all  a  grand  one," 
Peggy  replied.  "  Mamma's  was  mnch  grander 
when  she  was  little,  I  know.  But,  of  course, 
she's  very  pertickler,  and  so's  nurse,  about  it 
being  very  tidy." 

And  then,  Peggy  being  ready,  the  quaint 
pair  of  friends  took  each  other's  hands  and  set 
off  to  the  top  of  the  kitchen  stairs. 

"  Should  we  take  the  humberellar  ?"  said 
Sarah,  suddenly  stopping  at  the  foot  of  the  first 
little  flight  of  stairs.  "  I  don't  think  it  looks 
any  ways  like  rain,  still  one  never  knows,  and 
I  can  carry  it  easy  " 

In  her  heart  she  hoped  Peggy  would  say  yes. 
For  to  Sarah's  eyes  the  clumsy  umbrella  was  a 
very  "  genteel  "  one  indeed,  and  she  felt  as  if  it 
would  add  distinction  to  their  appearance. 

Peggy,  not  looking  at  it  from  this  point  of 
view,  hesitated. 

"  P'r'aps  it  would  do  to  keep  the  sun  off  us," 
she  said.  "  My  parasol's  wored  out,  so  I  can't 
take   it.     Mamma's    going   to   get   me  a  new 


one." 


Sarah  ran  back  and  fetched  the  umbrella. 
When  they  got  to  the  door  at  the  top  of  the 


UP  FERNLEY  ROAD.  169 

kitchen  stairs,  Peggy  opened  it  and  called 
down  softly,  "  Fanny,  are  you  there  ?  Can  you 
hear  me  j"  for  she  was  not  allowed  to  go  down 
to  the  kitchen  by  herself. 

But  no  one  answered.  Fanny  was  busy 
washing  in  the  back  kitchen  with  both  doors 
shut  to  keep  in  the  steam,  and  the  cook  had 
gone  out  to  the  butcher's. 

"  Fanny,"  called  Peggy  again. 

Then  a  voice  came  at  last  in  return. 

"  Is  it  anything  I  can  tell  the  cook  when  she 
comes  in,  please,  miss  ?"  and  a  boy  came  forward 
out  of  the  kitchen  and  stood  at  the  foot  of  the 
steep  stone  stairs.  "  I'm  the  baker's  boy,  and 
I  met  cook  and  she  told  me  to  wait ;  she'd  be 
back  with  change  to  pay  the  book  in  a  minute. 
There's  no  one  here." 

Peggy  turned  to  Sarah  in  distress. 

"  Fanny  must  be  out  too,"  she  said. 

"  Well,  it'll  be  all  right  if  the  boy  'ull  tell 
her,  won't  it,  missy  ?  'Tisn't  the  cook,"  she 
went  on,  speaking  to  the  boy  herself,  "  'tis 
t'other  one.  Jest  you  tell  her  when  she  comes 
in  that  miss  lias  gone  out  a  little  walk  with 
me — Sarah  Simpkins — she'll  know.  I'll  take 
good  care  of  missy." 

"  All    right,"  said    the    boy,  with    no  doubt 


1 70  LITTLE  MISS  PEG  G  7. 

that  so  it  was,  and  thinking,  if  he  thought  at 
all,  that  Sarah  Siinpkins  must  be  a  little  nurse- 
girl,  or  something  of  the  kind  about  the  house, 
though  certainly  a  small  specimen  to  be  in 
service  !  He  whistled  as  he  turned  away,  and 
something  in  the  cheerful  so  and  of  his  whistle 
helped  to  satisfy  Peggy  that  all  was  right ! 

"  He's  a  nice  boy,"  she  said  to  Sarah.  "  He 
won't  forget,  will  he  ?" 

"Not  he,"  Sarah  replied.  "He'll  tell  'em 
fast  enough.  And  as  like  as  not  we'll  meet  'em 
along  the  street  as  we  go.  Is  Webb's  your 
butcher,  missy  ?  'tis  just  at  the  corner  of  Fern- 
ley  Koad." 

Peggy  shook  her  head. 

"  I  don't  know,"  she  said,  feeling  rather 
ashamed  of  her  ignorance ;  "  but  Pd  like  to 
meet  Fanny,  so,  pelease,  let  us  go  that  way." 

And  off  the  two  set,  by  the  front  door  this 
time,  quite  easy  in  their  minds,  though,  as  far 
as  they  knew,  the  baker's  boy  was  the  only 
guardian  of  the  house. 

They  trotted  down  the  street  in  the  sunshine ; 
it  was  very  bright  and  fine — the  air,  even  there 
in  the  smoky  town,  felt  this  morning  deliciously 
fresh  and  spring-like. 

"  How   nice   it   is,"  said   Peggy,  drawing  a 


UP  FEJRNLEY  ROAD.  171 

deep  breath  ;  "  it's  just  like  summer.  I'd  like 
to  go  a  quite  long  walk,  wouldn't  you, 
Sarah  ?" 

Liglit  Smiley  looked  about  her  approvingly. 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  "  I  does  enjoy  a  real  fine 
day.  And  in  the  country  it  must  be  right- 
down  fust-rate." 

"  Oh,  the  country  !"  said  Peggy ;  "  oh,  dear, 
how  I  do  wish  we  could  go  as  far  as  the  coun- 

try  !" 

"  Well,"  said  Sarah,  "  if  we  walk  fast  we 
might  come  within  sight  of  it.  There's  nice 
trees  and  gardings  up  Fernley  Road,  and  that's 
a  sort  of  country,  isn't  it,  missy  ?" 

They  were  at  the  corner  of  the  road  by  this 
time,  but  there  was  no  sign  of  Fanny  or  cook. 
Webb's  shop  stood  a  little  way  down  the 
other  side,  but  as  far  as  they  could  see  it  was 
empty. 

"P'r'aps  your  folk  don't  deal  there,"  said 
Sarah,  to  which  Peggy  had  nothing  to  say,  and 
they  stood  looking  about  them  in  an  uncertain 
kind  of  way. 

"  We  may  as  well  go  on  a  bit,"  said  Sarah  at 
last ;  "  that  there  boy's  sure  to  tell." 

Peggy  had  no  objection,  and  they  set  off 
along  Fernley  Eoad  at  a  pretty  brisk  pace. 


172  LITTLE  MISS  PEOG  T. 

They  had  not  very  far  to  go  before,  as  Sarah 
said,  the  road  grew  less  town-like ;  the  houses 
had  little  gardens  round  them,  some  of  which 
were  prettily  kept,  and  after  awhile  they  came 
to  a  field  or  two,  not  yet  built  upon,  though 
great  placards  stuck  up  on  posts  told  that  they 
were  waiting  to  be  sold  for  that  purpose.  They 
were  very  towny  sort  of  fields  certainly,  still 
the  bright  spring  sunshine  made  the  best  of 
them  as  of  everything  else  this  morning,  and 
the  two  children  looked  at  them  with  pleasure. 

"  There's  nicer  fields  still,  a  bit  further  on," 
said  Sarah.  "I've  been  along  this  'ere  road 
several  times.  It  goes  on  and  on  right  into  the 
country.1' 

"  I  know,"  said  Peggy,  "  it  goes  on  into  the 
countiy  of  the  mountings.  But,  Sarah,"  she 
said,  stopping  short,  and  looking  rather  dis- 
tressed, "I  don't  think  we  see  them  any  plainer 
than  from  the  nursery  window,  and  the  white 
cottage  doesn't  look  even  as  plain.  Are  you 
sure  we're  going  the  right  way  ?" 

"  We  couldn't  go  wrong,"  answered  Sarah, 
"there's  no  other  way.  But  we've  come  no 
distance  yet,  missy,  and  you  see  there's  ups  and 
downs  in  the  road  that  comes  between  us  and 
the  'ills  somehow.     I  suppose  at  the  window 


UP  FERNLET  ROAD.  173 

we  cqitM  see  straight  forward-like,  and  then  we 
was  'igker  up." 

"  Yes,  that  must  be  it,"  said  Peggy  ;  "  but  I 
would  like  to  go  far  enough  to  see  a  little 
plainer,  Sarah,  wouldn't  you  ?  I've  got  the  red 
shoes  in  my  pocket,  you  know,  and  when  we 
come  to  a  place  where  we  can  see  very  nice 
and  clear  I'll  take  them  out  and  let  them  see 
too." 

"  Lor',w  said  Sarah,  "  you  are  funny,  missy." 

But  she  smiled  so  good-naturedly  that  Peggy 
did  not  mind. 

After  a  bit  they  came  to  a  place  where  an- 
other road  crossed  the  one  they  were  on.  This 
other  road  was  planted  with  trees  along  one 
side,  and  the  shade  they  cast  looked  cool  and 
tempting. 

"  I  wish  we  could  go  along  that  way,"  said 
Peggy,  "  but  it  would  be  the  wrong  way.  It 
doesn't  go  on  to  the  mountings." 

Sarah  did  not  answer  for  a  minute.  She  was 
trying  to  spell  out  some  letters  that  were 
painted  up  on  the  corner  of  a  wall,  which  in- 
closed the  garden  of  a  house  standing  in  the 
road  they  were  looking  down. 

"  <  B,  R,  A,' "  she  began,  "  '  B,  R,  A,  C,  K  : ' 
it's  it,  just  look,  missy.     Bain't  that   Bracken- 


174  LITTLE  MISS  PEGGY. 

shire  as  large  as  life  ?  '  Brackensliire  Eoad.7 
It  must  be  this  way,"  and  she  looked  quite 
delighted. 

"  But  how  can  it  be  ?"  objected  Peggy. 
"  This  road  doesn't  go  to  the  hills,  Sarah. 
They're  straight  in  front." 

"  But  maybe  it  slopes  round  again  after  a 
bit,"  said  Sarah.  "  Lots  of  roads  does  that  way, 
and  runs  the  same  way  really,  though  you 
wouldn't  think  so  at  the  start.  It  stands  to 
reason,  when  it's  got  the  name  painted  up,  it 
must  lead  Brackensliire  way ;"  and  then  sud- 
denly, as  a  man  with  a  basket  on  his  arm  ap- 
peared coming  out  of  one  of  the  houses,  she 
darted  up  to  him. 

"  Please,  mister,  does  this  road  lead  to  Brack- 
ensliire ?"  she  asked. 

The  man  did  not  look  very  good-natured. 

"  Lead  to  where  ?"  he  said  gruffly. 

"  To  Brackensliire — it's  painted  up  on  the 
wall,  but  we  want  to  be  sure." 

"  If  it's  painted  up  on  the  wall,  what's  the 
sense  of  askin'  me  ?"  he  said.  "'  If  you  go  far 
enough  no  doubt  you'll  get  there.  There's 
more'n  one  road  to  Brackenshire." 

Sarah  was  quite  satisfied. 

"  You  see,"  she  said  to  Peggy,  running  back 


UP  FERNLEY  ROAD.  175 

to  her,  "  it's  all  right.  If  we  go  along  this  'ere 
road  a  bit,  I  'specs  it'll  turn  again  and  then 
we'll  see  the  'ills  straight  in  front." 

Peggy  had  no  objection.  Fernley  Road  was 
bare  and  glaring  just  about  there,  and  the  trees 
were  very  tempting. 

"  It's  really  getting  like  the  country,"  said 
Peggy  as  they  passed  several  pretty  gardens, 
larger  and  much  prettier  than  the  small  ones 
in  Fernley  Road. 

"  Yes,"  Light  Smiley  agreed,  "  but  though 
gardings  is  nice,  I  don't  hold  with  gardings 
anything  like  as  much  as  fields.  Fields  is 
splendid  where  you  can  race  about  and  jump 
and  do  just  as  you  like,  and  no  fears  of  breakin' 
flowers  or  nothink." 

u  Do  you  think  we  shall  come  to  fields  like 
that  soon  V  said  Peggy.  "  If  there  was  a  very 
nice  one  we  might  go  into  it  pYaps  and  rest  a 
little,  and  look  at  the  mountings.  I  wish  we 
could  begin  to  see  the  mountings  again,  Sarah ; 
it  seems  quite  strange  without  them,  and  I'm 
getting  rather  tired  of  looking  at  gardens  when 
Ave  can't  go  inside  them,  aren't  you  ?" 

Sarah  was  feeling  very  contented  and 
happy.  She  was,  though  a  little  body  for  her 
age,  much  stronger  than  Peggy,  as  well  as  two 


176  LITTLE  MISS  PEGG  T. 

years  older,  and  she  looked  at  her  companion 
with  surprise  when  she  began  already  to  talk 
of  "  resting." 

"  Lor',  missy,  you  bain't  tired  already,"  she 
was  beginning,  when  she  suddenly  caught  sight 
of  something  which  made  her  interrupt  herself. 
This  was  another  road  crossing  the  one  they 
were  on  at  right  anodes,  and  running  therefore 
in  the  same  direction  as  Fernley  Road  again. 
"  'Ere's  our  way,"  she  cried,  "  now  didn't  I  tell 
you  so  ?  And  this  way  goes  slopin'  up  a  bit, 
you  see.  When  we  get  to  the  top  we'll  see  the 
'ills  straight  afore  us,  and  'ave  a  beeyutiful 
view." 

Peggy's  rather  nagging  steps  grew  brisker  at 
this,  and  the  two  ran  gayly  along  the  new  road 
for  a  little  way.  But  running  uphill  is  tiring, 
and  it  seemed  to  take  them  a  long  time  to  get 
to  the  top  of  the  slope,  and  when  they  did  so, 
it  was  only  to  be  disappointed.  Neither  moun- 
tains nor  hills  nor  white  cottage  were  to  be 
seen,  only  before  them  a  rather  narrow  sort  of 
lane,  sloping  downward  now  and  seeming  to 
lead  into  some  rather  rough  waste  ground, 
where  it  ended.  Peggy's  face  grew  rather 
doleful,  but  Sarah  was  quite  equal  to  the  occa- 
sion.    A  little  down  the  hill  she  spied  a  stile, 


UP  FERNLEY  ROAD.  177 

over  which  she  persuaded  Peggy  to  climb. 
They  found  themselves  in  a  potato  field,  but  a 
potato  field  with  a  path  down  the  middle  ;  it 
was  a  laro;e  field  and  at  the  other  end  of  the 
path  was  a  gate,  opening  on  to  a  cart  track 
scarcely  worthy  the  name  of  a  lane.  The 
children  followed  it,  however,  till  another  stile 
tempted  them  again,  this  time  into  a  little 
wood,  where  they  got  rather  torn  and  scratched 
by  brambles  and  nettles  as  they  could  not 
easily  find  a  path,  and  Sarah  fancied  by  forcing 
their  way  through  the  bushes  they  would  be 
sure  to  come  out  on  to  the  road  again. 

It  was  not,  however,  till  they  had  wandered 
backward  among;  the  trees  and  brambles  for 
some  time  that  they  got  on  to  a  real  path,  and 
they  had  to  walk  a  good  way  along  this  till 
they  at  last  came  on  another  gate,  this  time 
sure  enough  opening  into  the  high-road. 

Sarah's  spirits  recovered  at  once. 

"  'Ere  we  are,"  she  said  cheerfully,  "  all 
right.  'Ere's  Fernley  Road  again.  Nothink  to 
do  but  to  turn  round  and  go  'ome  if  you're 
tired,  missy.  I'm  not  tired,  but  if  you'd  rayther 
go  no  further " 

Peggy  did  not  answer  for  a  moment ;  she 
was  staring  about  her  on  all  sides.     The  pros- 


178  LITTLE  MISS  PEGG  Y. 

pect  was  not  a  very  inviting  one  ;  the  road  was 
bare  and  ugly,  dreadfully  dusty,  and  there  was 
no  shade  anywhere,  and  at  a  little  distance  some 
great  tall  chimneys  were  to  be  seen,  the  chim- 
neys of  some  iron  works,  from  which  smoke 
poured  forth.  There  were  a  good  many  little 
houses  near  the  tall  chimneys ;  they  were  the 
houses  of  the  people  who  worked  there,  but 
they  were  not  sweet  little  cottages  such  as 
Peggy  dreamed  of.  Indeed  they  looked  more 
like  a  very  small  ugly  town  than  like  rows  of 
cottages  on  a  country  road. 

"  This  isn't  a  pretty  road  at  all,"  said  Peggy 
at  last,  rather  crossly  I  am  afraid ;  "  it  is  very 
nugly,  and  you  shouldn't  have  brought  me  here, 
Sarah.  I  can't  see  the  mountings ;  they  is 
quite  goned  away,  more  goned  away  than  when 
it  rains,  for  then  they're  only  behind  the  clouds. 
This  isn't  Fernley  Road,  Light  Smiley.  I  do 
believe  you've  losted  us,  and  Peggy's  so  tired, 
and  very,  very  un'appy." 

It  was  Peggy's  way  when  she  grew  low- 
spirited  to  speak  more  babyishly  than  usual ; 
at  such  times  it  was  too  much  trouble  to  think 
about  being  a  big  girl.  Poor  Sarah  looked 
dreadfully  distressed. 

"  Oh,  missy  dear,  don't  cry,"  she  said     "  If 


UP  FERNLEY  ROAD.  179 

it  bain't  Fernley  Road,  it's  a  road  anyway,  and 
there's  no  call  to  be  frightened.  "We  can  ax 
our  way,  but  I'd  rayther  not  ax  it  at  the 
cottages,  for  they  might  think  I  was  a  tramp 
that  'd  stoled  you  away." 

"  And  what  would  they  do  then  ?"  asked 
Peggy,  leaving  off  crying  for  a  minute. 

"  They'd  'ave  me  up  inebbe,  and  put  us  in  the 
lock-up." 

"  What's  that  ?" 

"  The  place  where  the  p'lice  leaves  folk  as 
they  isn't  sure  about." 

"  Prison,  do  you  mean  ?"  said  Peggy,  growing 
very  pale. 

"  Well,  not  ezackly,  but  somethin'  like." 

Peggy  caught  hold  of  Sarah  in  sudden 
terror. 

"  Oh,  come  along,  Light  Smiley,  quick,  quick. 
Let's  get  back  into  the  fields  and  hide  or  any- 
thing. Oh,  come  quick,  for  fear  they  should 
catch  us."  And  she  tugged  at  Sarah,  trying  to 
drag  her  along  the  road. 

"  Stop,  missy,  don't  take  on  so ;  there's  no 
need.  "We'll  just  go  along  quietly  and  no 
one'll  notice  us,  only  you  stop  crying,  and  then 
no  one'll  think  any  'arm.  We'll  not  go  back 
the  way  we  came,  it's  so  drefful  thorny,  but  we'll 


180  LITTLE  MISS  PEOG  Y. 

look  out  for  another  road  or  a  path.  I  'spects 
you're  right  enough — this  'ere  bain't  Fernley 
Road." 

Peggy  swallowed  down  her  sobs. 

"  I  don't  think  you  look  quite  big  enough  to 
have  stolened  me,  Sarah,"  she  said  at  last. 
"  But  I  would  like  to  get  back  into  the  fields 
quick.  If  only  we  could  see  the  mountings 
again,  I  wouldn't  be  quite  so  frightened." 

They  had  not  gone  far  before  they  came  upon 
a  gateway  and  a  path  leading  through  a  field 
where  there  seemed  no  difficulties.  Crossing  it 
they  found  themselves  at  the  edge  of  the  thorny 
wood,  which  they  skirted  for  some  way.  Peg- 
gy's energy,  born  of  fear,  began  to  fail. 

"  Sarah,"  she  said  at  last,  bursting  into  fresh 
tears,  "  Peggy  can't  go  no  further,  and  I'm  so 
hungry  too.  I'm  sure  it's  long  past  dinner-time. 
You  must  sit  down  and  rest ;  p'r'aps  if  I  rested 
a  little,  I  wouldn't  feel  so  very  un'appy." 

Sarah  looked  at  her  almost  in  despair.  She 
herself  was  worried  and  vexed,  very  afraid  too 
of  the  scolding  which  certainly  awaited  her  at 
home,  but  she  was  not  tired  nor  dispirited, 
though  very  sorry  for  Peggy,  and  quite  aware 
that  it  was  she  and  not  "  missy "  who  was  to 
blame  for  this  unlucky  expedition. 


UP  FERNLEY  ROAD.  181 

"  I'd  like  to  get  on,"  she  said ;  "  we're  sure  to 
get  back  into  a  road  as'll  take  us  'onie  before 
long.     Couldn't  I  carry  you,  missy  ?" 

"  No,"  said  Peggy,  "  you're  far  too  little. 
And  I  can't  walk  any  more  without  resting. 
You're  very  unkind,  Light  Smiley,  and  I  wish 
I'd  never  seen  you." 

Poor  Sarah  bore  this  bitter  reproach  in 
silence. 

She  looked  about  for  a  comfortable  seat  in 
the  hedge,  and  settled  herself  so  that  Peggy 
could  rest  against  her.  The  sunshine,  though 
it  had  seemed  hot  and  glaring  on  the  bare,  dusty 
road,  was  not  really  very  powerful,  for  it  was 
only  late  April,  though  avery  summer-like  day. 
Peggy  left  off  crying  and  said  no  more,  but 
leaned  contentedly  enough  against  Sarah. 

"  I'm  comf  able  now,"  she  said,  closing  her 
eyes.  "  Thank  you,  Light  Smiley.  I'll  soon 
be  rested,  and  then  we'll  go  on." 

But  in  a  moment  or  two,  by  the  way  she 
breathed,  Sarah  saw  that  she  had  fallen 
asleep. 

"  Bless  us,"  thought  the  little  guardian  to 
herself,  "  she  may  sleep  for  hours.  Whatever 
'ull  I  do  ?  She's  that  tired — and  when  she 
wakes  she'll  be  that  'ungry,  there'll  be  no  get- 


182  LITTLE  MISS  PEOG  T. 

ting  her  along.  She'll  be  quite  faint-like.  If 
I  dared  leave  her,  I'd  run  on  till  I  found  the 
road  and  got  somebody  to  'elp  carry  her.  But 
I  dursn't.  If  she  woked  up  and  me  gone,  she'd 
be  runnin'  who  knows  where,  and  mebbe  never 
be  found  again.  Poor  missy — it'll  be  lock-up 
and  no  mistake,  wusser  I  dare  say  for  me,  and 
quite  right  too.  Mother'll  never  say  I'm  fit  for 
a  nussery  after  makin'  sich  a  fool  of  myself." 

And  in  spite  of  her  courage,  the  tears  began 
to  trickle  down  Sarah's  face.  Peggy  looked  so 
white  and  tiny,  lying  there  almost  in  her  arms, 
that  it  made  her  heart  ache  to  see  her.  So  she 
shut  her  own  eyes  and  tried  to  think  what  to 
do.  And  the  thinking  grew  gradually  confused 
and  mixed  up  with  all  sorts  of  other  thinkings. 
Sarah  fancied  she  heard  her  mother  calling  her 
and  she  tried  to  answer,  but  somehow  the  words 
would  not  come. 

And  at  last,  though  she  was  really  so  anxious 
and  distressed,  the  quiet  and  the  mild  air,  and 
the  idleness  perhaps,  to  which  none  of  the 
Simpkins  family  were  much  accustomed,  all 
joined  together  and  by  degrees  hushed  poor 
Light  Smiley  to  sleep,  her  arms  clasped  round 
Peggy  as  if  to  protect  her  from  any  possible 
danger. 


/    ind  af  last.  thoucSn   <>hi  was  really  so  anxious 
and  cJ«str£sSic)f  tKi  cjuiif  Ancl  tfu  mi/d  air t^nd 
tkf   idkmss    piTnaps,  to  whicf)  nom  of  tn*  Simp: 
kin5   -family  \A^ir£    muck    jvccustormd,  all  joimd 
togsHur  and  by  dijrtts .  Kushid   poor    Lid/it 
<^milry  *b  5liip,  n<r  arms   claspid  |     / 

Tound  ftg£y  ^   if  fo  prottcf  \(,L/ 

ktr  {rorr\  *r\y    possibk 


UP  FERNLEY  ROAD.  183 

It  would  have  been  a  touching  picture,  had 
there  been  any  one  there  to  see.  Unluckily, 
not  merely  for  the  sake  of  the  picture,  but  for 
that  of  the  children  themselves,  there  was  no 
one. 


184  LITTLE  MISS  PEGG  T. 


CHAPTER  XII. 


THE     SHOES-LADY    AGAIN. 


' '  Fll  love  you  through  the  happy  years, 
Till  Fm  a  nice  old  lady." 

— Poems  Written  for  a  Child. 

When  they  woke,  both  of  theni  at  the  same 
moment  it  seemed,  though  probably  one  had 
roused  the  other  without  knowing  it,  the  sun 
had  gone,  the  sky  looked  dull,  it  felt  chilly  and 
strange.  Peggy  had  thought  it  must  be  past 
dinner-time  before  they  had  sat  down  to  rest ; 
it  seemed  now  as  if  it  must  be  past  tea-time 
too! 

Sarah  started  up,  Peggy  feebly  clinging  to 
her. 

"  Oh,  dear,  dear,"  said  Sarah,  "  I  shouldn't 
have  gone  to  sleep,  and  it's  got  that  cold  !" 
She  was  shivering  herself,  but  Peggy  seemed 
much  the  worse  of  the  two.  She  was  white 
and  pinched  looking,  and  as  if  she  were  half- 
stupened. 


THE  SHOES-LAD  Y  AG  AW.  185 

"  I'm  so  cold,"  she  said,  "  and  so  hungry.  I 
thought  I  was  in  bed  at  home.  I  do  so  want 
to  go  home.  I'm  sure  it's  very  late,  Light 
Smiley  ;  do  take  me  home." 

u  I'm  sure,  missy,  it's  what  I  want  to  do," 
said  poor  Sarah.  "  I'm  af eared  it's  a-going  to 
rain,  and  whatever  'ull  we  do  then  ?  You 
wouldn't  wait  'ere  a  minute,  would  you,  while 
I  run  to  see  if  there's  a  road  near  ?" 

"  No,  no,"  said  Peggy,  "  I  won't  stay  alone. 
I'm  very,  very  frightened,  Light  Smiley,  and  I 
think  I'm  going  to  die." 

"  Oh,  Lor',  missy,  don't  you  say  that,"  said 
Sarah,  in  terror.  "  If  you  can't  walk  I'll  carry 
you." 

"  I'll  try  to  walk,"  said  Peggy,  picking 
up  some  spirit  when  she  saw  Sarah's  white 
face. 

And  then  the  two  set  oif  again,  dazed  and 
miserable,  very  different  from  the  bright  little 
pair  that  had  started  up  Fernley  Eoad  that 
morning. 

Tilings,  however,  having  got  to  the  worst, 
began  to  mend,  or  at  least  were  beginning  to 
mend  for  them,  though  Peggy  and  Sarah  did 
not  just  yet  know  it.  Not  far  from  the  edge  of 
the  field  where  they  were,  a  little  bridle-path 


186  LITTLE  MISS  PEGGY. 

led  into  a  lane,  and  a  few  yards  down  this  lane 
brought  them  out  upon  Fernley  Road  again  at 
last. 

"  I  see  the  mountings,"  cried  Peggy ;  "  oh, 
Light  Smiley,  Peggy  sees  the  mountings. 
P'r'aps  we  won't  die,  oh,  p'r'aps  we'll  get  home 
safe  again." 

But  though  she  had  been  trying  to  be  brave, 
now  that  she  began  to  hope  again,  it  was  too 
much  for  her  poor  little  nerves — Peggy  burst 
into  loud  sobbing. 

"  Oh,  dear  missy,  try  not  to  cry,"  said  Sarah. 
"  There — there — where's  your  hankercker  ?"  and 
she  dived  into  Peggy's  pocket  in  search  of  it. 
And  as  she  pulled  it  out,  out  tumbled  at  the 
same  time  the  two  little  scarlet  shoes,  falling 
on  the  ground. 

"  Oh,  Light  Smiley,  my  red  shoes.  They'll 
be  all  spoilt  and  dirtied,"  said  Peggy,  as  well  as 
she  could,  for  Sarah  was  dabbing  the  handker- 
chief all  over  her  face. 

Sarah  stooped  to  pick  them  up  ;  both  chil- 
dren were  too  much  engaged  to  notice  the  sound 
of  wheels  coining  quickly  along  the  quiet  road. 
But  the  sight  of  a  speck  of  dirt  on  one  of  the 
shoes  set  Peggy  off  crying  again,  and  she  cried 
for   once    pretty    loudly.     The   wheels    came 


THE  SHOES-LAD T  AGAIN".  187 

nearer,  and  then  stopped,  and  this  made  Sarah 
look  round.  A  pony-cariage  driven  by  a  lady 
had  drawn  up  just  beside  them.  The  groom, 
sitting  behind,  jumped  down,  though  looking 
as  if  he  did  not  know  what  he  was  to  do. 

"  What  is  the  matter,  little  girls  V  said  the 
lady. 

"It's,  please  'in — we've  lost  our  road — it's 
all   along  o'  me,   mum — but  I  didn't  mean  no 

'arm,  only   missy's   that  wore  out  'm,  and " 

but  before  Sarah  could  get  further,  she  was 
stopped  by  a  sort  of  cry  from  both  the  lady 
and  Peggy  at  once. 

"  Oh,  oh,"  called  out  Peggy,  "  it's  the  shoes- 
lady — oh,  pel  ease,  pelease  take  me  home," 
and  she  seemed  ready  to  dart  into  the  lady's 
arms. 

"  I  do  believe,"  she  said,  "  I  do  believe  it's 
the  little  girl  I  saw  at  the  bootmaker's,  and — 
yes,  of  course  it  is — there  are  the  shoes  them- 
selves !  My  dear  child,  whatever  are  you  doing 
to  be  so  far  from  home — at  least  I  suppose  you 
live  in  the  town  \ — and  what  have  you  got  the 
dolly's  shoes  with  you  for  ?" 

"  I  brought  them  for  them  to  see  the  moun- 
tings and  the  white  cottage,"  sobbed  Peggy  ; 
"but  I'm  so  cold  and  hungry,  pelease  take  me 
home,  oh,  pelease  do." 


188  LITTLE  MISS  PEGGY. 

The  lady  seemed  rather  troubled.  Even  if 
she  had  not  remembered  Peggy,  she  would 
have  seen  in  a  moment  that  she  was  a  little 
lady,  though  Peggy  looked  miserable  enough 
with  her  torn  clothes  and  scratched  and  tear- 
stained  face. 

"  Poor  child,"  she  said,  "  tell  me  your  name 
and  where  you  live." 

"I'm  Peggy,  but  I  don't  amember  my 
nother  name,  'cos  I'm  tired  and  it's  very  long," 
she  said. 

The  lady  looked  at  Sarah.  Sarah  shook  her 
head. 

"  No,  mum,  I  don't  know  it  neither,  but  I 
knows  the  name  of  the  street.  "lis  Bernard 
Street,  'm — off  Fernley  Road,  and  their  back 
winders  looks  over  to  us.  We're  Simpkinses, 
'm,  and  missy's  mar  knows  as  we're  'speckable, 
and  mother  she  never  thought  when  she  told 
me  to  take  back  the  humberellar  as  I'd  lead 
missy  sich  a  dance.  I'll  never  do  for  the 
nussery,  no,  never.  I'm  not  steady  enough," 
and  here  Light  Smiley  gave  signs  of  crying 
herself. 

It  was  not  easy  for  the  lady  to  make  out  the 
story,  but  by  degrees,  with  patience  she  did  so. 
But  while  talking  she  had  lifted  Peggy  into 


THE  8H0ES-LAD  Y  AG  AW.  1 89 

the  carriage  beside  her,  and  wrapped  her  up  in 
a  shawl  that  lay  on  the  seat,  Peggy  nestling  in, 
(juite  contentedly. 

"  Now,"  said  the  lady,  "  you  get  in  too,  Sarah 
Siinpkins,  and  I'll  drive  you  both  home.  I 
was  on  my  way  home  out  into  the  country,  but 
I  can't  leave  you  here  on  the  road.  This  is 
Fernley  Iioad,  but  it's  quite  four  miles  from 
the  town." 

In  scrambled  Sarah,  divided  between  fear  of 
her  own  and  Peggy's  relations'  scoldings  when 
they  got  home,  and  the  delight  and  honor  of 
driving  in  a  carriage  !  The  groom  would  have 
liked  to  look  grumpy,  I  am  quite  sure,  but  he 
dared  not.  Peggy,  for  her  part,  crept  closer  and 
closer  to  the  lady,  and  ended  by  falling  asleep 
again,  so  that  it  was  a  good  thing  Light  Smiley 
was  sitting  on  the  other  side,  to  keep  her  from 
falling  out. 

The  four  miles  seemed  very  short  to  Sarah, 
and  as  they  got  into  the  outskirts  of  the  town 
her  face  grew  longer  and  longer. 

"  I'm  more'n  half  a  mind  to  run  away,  I 
'ave,"  she  said  to  herself,  quite  unaware  she 
was  speaking  aloud.  "  It'll  be  more'n  I  can 
stand,  mother  and  Rebecca  and  all  on  'em  down 
on  me,  for  I  didn't  mean  no  'arm.  I'd  best  run 
away." 


190  LITTLE  MISS  PEGGY. 

The  lady  turned  to  her ;  hitherto  she  had  not 
taken  much  notice  of  Sarah,  but  now  she  felt 
sorry  for  the  little  girl. 

"  What  are  you  saying,  my  dear  ?"  she  said 
gently,  though  all  the  same  her  voice  made 
Sarah  jump.  "  Are  you  afraid  of  going  home  ? 
You  have  not  done  anything  naughty,  ex- 
actly, as  far  as  I  understand.  It  was  only 
thoughtless.  I  will  go  with  you  to  your  home 
if  you  like,  and  explain  to  your  mother  how  it 
was." 

"  Oh,  thank  you,  mum,"  said  Sarah  eagerly, 
her  spirits  rising  again  at  once ;  "  you  see,  mum, 
I  do  so  want  to  be  in  the  nussery  onst  I'm  big 
enough,  and  I  was  so  afeared  mother' d  never 
think  of  it  again.  I  only  wanted  to  please  little 
missy,  for  she  seemed  so  lonely  like,  her  mar 
and  all  bein'  away  and  no  one  for  to  take  her  a 
walk.  She's  a  sweet  little  missy,  she  is,  but 
she's  only  a  baby,  so  to  say ;  she  do  have  such 
funny  fancies.  'Twas  all  to  see  the  cottage  on 
the  'ills  she  wanted  to  come  up  Fernley  Road 
so  badly." 

"  The  cottage — what  cottage  ?"  asked  the 
lady. 

Sarah  tried  to  explain,  and  gradually  the 
lady  got  to  understand  what  little  Peggy  had 


THE  SHOES-LAD  T  AG  A  IN.  191 

meant  about  bringing  the  red  shoes  "  to  see  the 
mountings  and  the  cottage." 

u  She's  always  a-talking  of  the  country,  and 
father  lived  there  when  he  was  a  boy,  and 
missy  had  got  it  in  her  'ead  that  he  lived  in  a 
white  cottage,  like  the  one  she  fancies  about," 
Sarah  went  on. 

"  I  would  like  to  take  her  out  into  the  real 
country,  poor  little  pet,"  said  the  lady,  looking 
tenderly  at  the  sweet  tiny  face  of  the  sleeping 
child.  She  loved  all  children,  but  little  girls  of 
Peggy's  age  were  especially  dear  to  her,  for 
many  years  before  she  had  had  a  younger  sister 
who  had  died,  and  the  thought  of  her  had  come 
into  her  mind  the  first  time  she  had  seen  Peggy 
at  the  door  of  the  shoe  shop.  "  If  I  can  see  any 
of  her  friends  I  will  ask  them  to  let  her  spend 
a  day  with  me,"  she  went  on,  speaking  more  to 
herself  than  to  Sarah. 

As  they  turned  into  Bernard  Street  a  cab 
dashed  past  them  coming  very  fast  from  the 
opposite  direction.  It  drew  up  in  front  of  the 
house  which  Sarah  was  just  tliat  moment  point- 
ing out  to  the  lady  as  Peggy's  home,  and  a 
gentleman,  followed  by  a  young  woman,  sprang 
out.  The  door  was  opened  almost  as  soon  as 
they  rang,  and  then  the  three,  the  other  servant 


192  LI TTLE  MISS  PEG  G  Y. 

who  had  answered  the  bell,  the  young  woman, 
and  the  gentleman,  all  stood  together  on  the 
steps  talking  so  anxiously  and  eagerly  that  for 
a  moment  or  two  they  did  not  notice  the  pony- 
carriage,  and  though  the  groom  knew  the  whole 
story  by  this  time  and  had  jumped  down  at 
once,  he  was  far  too  proper  to  do  anything  till 
he  had  his  lady's  orders. 

"  Ask  the  gentleman  to  speak  to  me,"  said 
the  lady,  "  and  you  jump  out,  little  Sarah.  I 
think  he  must  be  Peggy's  father." 

He  had  turned  round  by  this  time  and  came 
hurrying  forward.  The  moment  the  lady  saw 
him  she  knew  she  had  guessed  right.  He  was 
so  like  Peggy — fair  and  gray-eyed,  and  with  the 
same  gentle  expression,  and  very  young-looking 
to  be  the  father  not  only  of  Peggy,  but  of  big 
little  boys  like  Thor  and  Terry.  His  face 
looked  pale  and  anxious,  but  the  moment  he 
caught  sight  of  the  little  sleeping  figure  lean- 
ing against  the  lady  it  all  lighted  up  and  a  red 
flush  came  into  his  cheeks. 

"  Oh — thank  God,"  he  exclaimed,  "my  little 
Peggy  !  You  have  found  her  !  How  good  of 
you  !     But — she  is  not  hurt  ? — she  is  all  right  ?" 

"  Yes — yes — only  cold  and  hungry  and  tired," 
said  the  lady  eagerly,  for  Peggy  did  look  rather 


THE  SHOES-LADY  AGAIN.  193 

miserable  still.  "  Will  you  lift  her  out  ?"  and 
as  he  did  so,  she  got  out  herself,  and  turned  to 
Sarah.  "  May  I  bring  this  other  child  in  for  a 
moment  ?"  she  said,  "  and  then  I  can  explain  it 
all." 

Sarah  followed  gladly,  but  a  sudden  thought 
struck  her.  "  Please  'in,"  she  said  bravely, 
though  the  tears  came  to  her  eyes  as  she  spoke, 
"  pVaps  I'd  best  run  'onie  ;  inother'll  be  fright- 
ened about  me." 

"  But  I  promised  you  should  not  be  scolded," 
said  the  lady  ;  "  stay,"  and  she  turned  to  Fanny, 
u  she  lives  close  to,  she  says." 

"  At  the  back  —  over  the  cobbler's,"  said 
Sarah  readily. 

"  Can  you  let  her  mother  know  she's  all  right, 
then  ?  And  say  I  am  coming  to  speak  to  her 
in  a  moment,"  said  the  lady,  and  Fanny  went 
off.  She  had  been  so  terrified  about  Peggy, 
and  so  afraid  that  she  would  be  blamed  for 
carelessness,  that  she  dared  not  wait,  though 
she  was  dying  with  curiosity  to  know  the  whole 
story  and  what  one  of  the  Simpkins  children 
could  have  had  to  do  with  it. 

Peggy  awoke  by  the  time  her  father  had  got 
her  into  the  dining-room,  where  cook  had  made 
a  good  fire  and  laid  out  Peggy's  dinner  and  tea 


194  LITTLE  MISS  PEGGY. 

in  one  to  be  all  ready,  for  the  poor  woman  had 
been  hoping  every  instant  for  the  last  few 
hours  that  the  little  girl  would  be  brought 
home  again.  It  had  been  difficult  to  find  Peg- 
gy's father,  as  he  was  not  at  his  office,  and 
Fanny  had  been  there  two  or  three  times  to 
fetch  him. 

"  Oh,  dear  papa,"  were  Peggy's  first  words, 
"I'm  so  glad  to  be  home.  I'll  never  go  up 
Fernley  Road  again ;  but  I  did  so  want  to  see 
the  cottage  and  the  mountings  plainer.  And  it 
wasn't  Light  Smiley' s  fault.  She  was  very 
good  to  me,  and  I  was  very  cross." 

This  did  not  much  clear  up  matters.  Indeed 
Peggy's  father  was  afraid  for  a  minute  or  two 
that  his  little  girl  was  going  to  have  a  fever, 
and  that  her  mind  was  wandering.  But  all 
such  fears  were  soon  set  at  rest,  and  when  the 
lady  went  off  with  Sarah,  she  left  Peggy  set- 
ting to  work  very  happily  at  her  dinner  or  tea, 
she  was  not  sure  which  to  call  it. 

"And  you  will  let  her  come  to  spend  the 
day  with  me  to-morrow  ?"  said  the  lady  as  she 
shook  hands  with  Peggy's  father.  "  I  shall  be 
driving  this  way,  and  I  can  call  for  her.  I 
should  not  be  happy  not  to  know  that  she  was 
none  the  worse  for  her  adventures  to-day." 


THE  SHOES- LA D  7  AGAIN.  1 95 

Then  the  lacly  took  Sarah  by  the  hand  and 
went  round  with  her  to  the  home  in  the  back 
street,  telling  the  groom  to  wait  for  her  at  the 
corner. 

It  was  well  she  went  herself,  for  otherwise  I 
am  afraid  poor  Light  Smiley  would  not  have 
escaped  the  scolding  she  dreaded.  Her  mother 
and  sisters  had  been  very  unhappy  and  fright- 
ened about  her,  and  when  people — especially 
poor  mothers  like  Mrs.  Simpkins,  with  "  so 
many  children  that  they  don't  know  what  to 
do  " — are  anxious  and  frightened,  I  have  often 
noticed  that  it  makes  them  very  cross. 

As  it  was,  however,  the  lady  managed  to 
smooth  it  all  down,  and  before  she  left  she  got 
not  only  Sarah's  mother,  but  Rebecca  and  Mary- 
Hann  and  all  of  them  to  promise  to  say  no 
more  about  it. 

"  'Tisn't  only  for  myself  I  was  feelin'  so  put 
about,  you  see,  ma'am,"  said  Mrs.  Simpkins, 
"  but  when  I  sent  over  the  way  and  found  the 
little  missy  was  not  to  be  found  it  flashed  upon 
me  like  a  lightenin'  streak — it  did  that,  ma'am 
— that  the  two  was  oft'  together.  And  if  any 
'ami  had  come  to  the  little  lady  through  one  of 
mine,  so  to  say,  it  would  'ave  gone  nigh  to  break 
my  'art.  For  their  mar  is  a  sweet  lady — a  real 
feelin'  lady  is  their  mar." 


196  LITTLE  MISS  PEOO  7. 

"  And  a  kind  friend  to  you,  I  dare  say,"  said 
the  stranger. 

"  Couldn't  be  a  kinder  as  far  as  friendly  words 
and  old  clotheses  goes,"  said  Mrs.  Simpkins. 
"  But  she's  a  large  little  fam'ly  of  her  own,  and 
not  so  very  strong  in  'ealth,  and  plenty  to  do 
with  their  money.  And  so  to  speak  strangers 
in  the  place,  though  she  'ave  said  she'd  do  her 
best  to  get  a  place  in  a  nice  fam'ly  for  one  of 
my  girls." 

The  lady  glanced  at  the  group  of  sisters. 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  "  I  should  think  you  could 
spare  one  or  two.  How  would  you  like  to  be 
in  a  kitchen  ?"  she  added,  turning  to  Rebecca. 

The  girl  blushed  so  that  her  face  matched 
her  arms,  and  she  looked  more  "  reddy  "  than 
ever.     But  she  shook  her  head. 

"  I'm  afraid "  she  began. 

"~No,  ma'am,  thank  you  kindly,  but  I 
couldn't  spare  Rebecca,"  the  mother  interrupted. 
"  If  it  were  for  Mary-Hann,  now — Matilda 
Jane's  coming  on  and  could  take  her  place. 
Only,  for  I  couldn't  deceive  you,  ma'am,  she's 
rather  deaf." 

"  I  shouldn't  mind  that,"  said  the  lady,  who 
was  pleased  by  Mary  Ann's  bright  eyes  and 
ple-asant    face.     "  I   think    deaf   people    some- 


THE  SHOES-LADY  AGAIN.  19? 

times  work  better  than  quick-hearing  ones ;  be- 
sides, it  may  perhaps  be  cured.  I  will  speak 
about  her  to  my  housekeeper  and  let  you  know. 
And  you,  Sarah,  you  are  to  be  in  the  nursery 
some  day." 

Sarah  grinned  with  delight, 

"  Not  just  yet,"  said  Mrs.  Simpkins ;  "  she 
'ave  a  deal  to  learn,  'ave  Sarah.  Schooling  and 
stiddiness  to  begin  with.  She  don't  mean  no 
'arm,  I'll  allow." 

"  No  ;  I'm  sure  she  wants  to  be  a  very  good 
girl,"  said  the  lady.  "  She  was  very  kind  and 
gentle  to  little  Miss  Peggy.  So  I  won't  forget 
you  either,  Sarah,  when  the  time  comes." 

And  then  the  lady  said  good-by  to  them  all. 
and  Mrs.  Simpkins'  heart  felt  lighter  than  for 
long,  for  she  was  sure  that  through  this  new 
friend  she  might  get  the  start  in  life  she  had 
been  hoping  for  for  her  many  daughters. 

Peggy  slept  off  her  fatigue,  and  by  the  next 
morning  she  was  quite  bright  again  and  able 
to  listen  to  and  understand  papa's  explanation 
of  how,  though  without  meaning  to  be  dis- 
obedient, she  had  done  wrong  the  day  before  in 
setting  off  with  Sarah  Simpkins  as  she  had 
done.  Two  or  three  tears  rolled  slowly  down 
her  cheeks  as  she  heard  what  he  said. 


1 98  LITTLE  MISS  PEGG  Y. 

"  I  meant  to  be  so  good  while  mamma  was 
away,"  she  whispered.  "  But  I'll  never  do  it 
again,  papa.  I'll  stay  quiet  in  the  nursery  all 
alone,  even  if  Miss  Earnshaw  doesn't  come 
back  at  all." 

For  a  message  had  come  from  the  dressmaker 
that  her  mother  was  very  ill,  as  Fanny  had 
feared,  and  that  she  was  afraid  she  would  not 
be  able  to  leave  her  for  several  days. 

"  It  Avon't  be  so  bad  as  that,  dear,"  said  her 
father.  "  Mamma  will  be  back  in  five  days 
now,  and  I  don't  think  you  are  likely  to  be  left 
alone  in  the  nursery — certainly  not  to-day ;"  and 
then  he  told  her  about  the  lady  having  asked 
her  to  spend  the  day  out  in  the  country  with 
her,  and  that  Peggy  must  be  ready  by  twelve 
o'clock,  not  to  keep  her  new  friend  waiting. 

Peggy's  eyes  gleamed  with  delight. 

"  Out  into  the  country  V  she  said.  "  Oh,  how 
lovely  !  And  oh,  papa,  do  you  think  p'r'aps  she 
lives  in  a  white  cottage  ?" 

Papa  shook  his  head. 

"  I'm  afraid  it's  not  a  cottage  at  all  where  she 
lives,"  he  said.  "  But  I'm  sure  it  is  a  very 
pretty  house  and  let  us  hope  it  is  a  white  one." 

"  No,"  said  Peggy,  "  you  don't  understand, 
papa — not  as  well  as  mamma  does.  I  don't 
care  what  color  it  is  if   it's  only  an  'ouse." 


THE  SHOES- LAD  Y  A  GAIN.  199 

And  she  couldn't  understand  why  papa 
laughed  so  that  he  really  couldn't  correct  her. 
"  I'm  afraid,  Peggy,"  he  said,  "  you've  been 
taking  lessons  from  little  Miss  Simpkins.  It's 
time  mamma  came  home  again  to  look  after 
you." 

"  Yes,  I  wish  mamma  was  come  home  again," 
said  Peggy.  "We  can't  do  without  her,  can  we, 
papa  V 

But  when  the  dear  little  pony-carriage  came 
up  to  the  door,  and  Peggy  got  in  and  drove  off 
with  her  kind  friend,  she  was  so  happy  that 
she  had  not  even  time  to  wish  for  mamma. 

And  what  a  delightful  day  she  had  !  The 
lady's  house  was  very  pretty,  and  the  gardens 
and  woods  in  which  it  stood  even  prettier  in 
Peggy's  opinion.  And  though  it  was  not  a  cot- 
tage, there  were  all  the  country  things  to  see 
which  Peggy  was  so  fond  of — cocks  and  hens, 
and  cows,  and  in  one  field  lots  of  sheep  and 
sweet  little  lambkins.  There  were  pigs,  too, 
which  Peggy  would  not  look  at,  but  ran  away 
to  the  other  end  of  the  yard  as  soon  as  she 
heard  them  "  grumphing,"  which  amused  the 
lady  very  much.  And  in  the  afternoon  she 
went  a  walk  with  her  friend  through  the  vil- 
lage, where  there  were  several  pretty  cottages, 


200  LITTLE  MISS  PEGG  F. 

but  none  that  quite  fitted  Peggy's  fancy. 
When  they  came  in  again  Peggy  stood  at  the 
drawing-room  window,  which  looked  out  to- 
ward Brackenshire,  without  speaking. 

"  You  like  that  view,  don't  you,  dear?"  said 
the  lady.     "  You  can  see  the  hills  ?" 

"  Yes,"  said  Peggy,  "  I  can  see  the  mount- 
ings, but  not  the  white  cottage.  It's  got  turned 
wrong  somehow,  from  here.  I  can  only  see 
it  from  the  nursery  window  at  home,"  and  she 
gave  a  very  little  sigh. 

"  Some  day,"  said  the  lady,  "  some  day  in 
the  summer  when  the  afternoons  are  very  long, 
I  will  drive  you  right  out  a  long  way  among 
the  hills,  and  perhaps  we'll  find  the  cottage 
then.  For  I  hope  your  mamma  will  often  let 
you  come  to  see  me,  my  little  Peggy." 

"  Yes,"  said  Peggy,  "that  would  be  lovely. 
I  wonder  if  we'd  find  the  white  cottage." 

No,  they  never  did  !  The  sweet  long  summer 
days  came,  and  many  a  bright  and  happy  one 
Peggy  spent  with  her  kind  friend,  but  they 
never  found  the  white  cottage  on  the  hill. 
Peggy  knew  it  so  well  in  her  mind,  she  felt  she 
could  not  mistake  it,  but  though  she  saw  many 
white  cottages  which  any  one  else  might  have 
thought  was  it,  she  knew  better.  And  each 
time,  though  she  sighed  a  little, she  hoped  again. 


TEE  SHOES-LAD  Y  AGAIN.  201 

But  before  another  summer  came  around 
Peggy  and  her  father  and  mother,  and  Thor, 
and  Terry,  and  Hal,  and  Baldwin,  and  baby 
had  all  gone  away — far  away  to  the  south, 
many  hours'  journey  from  the  dingy  town  and 
the  Fernley  Road,  and  the  queer  old  house  in 
the  back  street  where  lived  the  cobbler  and  old 
Mother  AVhelan  and  Brown  Smiley  and  Light 
Smiley  and  all  the  rest  of  them.  Far  away  too 
from  the  hills  and  the  strange  white  speck  in 
the  distance  which  Peggy  called  her  cottage. 

So  it  never  was  more  than  a  dream  to  her 
after  all,  and  perhaps — perhaps  it  was  best  so  ? 
For  nothing  has  ever  spoiled  the  sweetness  and 
the  mystery  of  the  childish  fancy — she  can  see 
it  with  her  mind's  eye  still — the  soft  white 
speck  on  the  far-away  blue  hills — she  can  see 
it  and  think  of  it  and  make  fancies  about  it 
even  now — now  that  she  has  climbed  a  long, 
long  way  up  the  mountain  of  life,  and  will 
soon  be  creeping  slowly  down  the  other  side, 
where  the  sun  still  shines,  however,  and  there 
are  even  more  beautiful  things  to  hope  for  than 
the  sweetest  dreams  of  childhood. 


202  LITTLE  MISS  PEQQ  Y. 


EKYPHINA'S    CHILD. 

In  old  times,  when  there  were  good  kings  as 
well  as  bad,  mild-tempered  and  gentle  women 
as  well  as  sour  and  peevish  ones,  there  lived  a 
good  King  of  Vannes,  who  had  a  daughter  called 
Eryphina.  She  was  as  sweet  as  new  milk  fresh 
from  the  cow ;  no  one  had  ever  seen  her  angry, 
and  the  worst  people  became  better  when  they 
were  near  her.  The  king  loved  nothing  in  the 
world  so  much  as  his  daughter  Eryphina. 

Unfortunately  the  princess  was  as  beautiful 
as  she  was  good,  and  the  fame  of  her  beauty 
had  spread  to  all  parts  of  the  world.  When 
she  was  only  sixteen,  Commore,  Count  of 
Cornouailles,  sent  an  embasssy  to  the  King  of 
Vannes,  to  demand  of  him  his  daughter  in 
marriage. 

"  Give  me  thy  daughter,"  said  Commore ; 
"  and  though  I  am  lord  of  the  country  where 
the  black  wheat  grows,  she  shall  never  want 
for  white  bread  and  meat ;  she  shall  be  both 
rich  and  happy." 


ERTPH1NA  'S  CHILD.  203 

The  King  of  Valines  had  doubts  as  to  the 
happiness,  whatever  the  riches  might  be.  He 
knew  that  the  count  was  a  powerful  prince, 
whose  coffers  were  full  of  gold,  and  his  land 
well  stocked  with  cattle ;  but  he  knew  also 
that  he  was  cruel  to  his  subjects,  that  he  was 
twenty  years  older  than  the  little  Eryphina, 
and  that  he  had  already  had  four  wives,  who 
all  died  without  children,  and  without  its  be- 
ino;  known  what  had  killed  them.  Besides, 
the  prospect  of  such  a  marriage  terrified  Ery- 
phina beyond  measure.  She  wept  so  much 
that  her  father  determined  to  keep  her  at 
home.     So  he  said  to  the  envoys  of  the  count : 

"  I  thank  your  master  for  the  honor  which 
he  has  done  us  by  wishing  for  our  alliance ; 
but  my  daughter  is  still  too  young  to  think  of 
marriage  ;  she  desires  to  remain  with  me." 

The  ambassadors  withdrew  in  the  greatest 
alarm,  for  they  knew  that  this  refusal  would 
enrage  their  master  exceedingly.  And  indeed 
they  had  no  sooner  delivered  their  message 
and  explained  why  they  appeared  before  him 
without  the  princess,  than  the  terrible  sword 
of  Commore  sprang  from  the  scabbard  and  the 
three  envoys  lay  dead  at  his  feet.  Then  he 
sent  back  tliis  message  to  the  king  of  the  white 
country  : 


204  LITTLE  MISS  PEGGY. 

"  Prepare  tliy  arms  and  thy  soldiers  for  bat- 
tle, for  I  will  make  war  against  thee  in  all  my 
might,  unless  thou  give  me  thy  daughter  in 
marriage." 

The  King  of  Vannes  was  a  brave  man,  and 
these  defiant  words  of  Commore's  did  not  in- 
crease his  desire  to  give  him  his  dear  daughter 
— his  Eryphina,  who  had  never  heard  a  harsh 
word  since  she  was  born.  He  called  his  sub- 
jects to  arms,  and  in  all  parts  of  the  country 
of  Vannes  the  people  made  themselves  ready 
for  battle.  They  came  forward  willingly,  un- 
like the  people  of  Cornouailles,  who  never 
went  to  war  except  from  fear  of  their  lord. 
They  all  knew  Erpphina,  and  every  man  was 
ready  to  give  his  life  for  her,  while  the  women 
stayed  at  home  and  wept. 

The  soldiers  of  Commore  had  set  out  on 
their  march,  when  a  holy  monk,  named  Yeltas, 
who  had  often  preached  both  in  the  country 
of  Vannes  and  the  kingdom  of  Commore,  came 
to  seek  Eryphina  in  her  father's  palace. 

"  What  is  this  !"  he  said  to  her.  "  Shall  a 
baptized  Christian  woman  allow  the  men  of 
two  countries  to  kill  each  other  for  her  sake — 
to  die,  perhaps,  in  mortal  sin,  and  to  go  straight 
to  everlasting  punishment  ?     Even  if  it  be  true 


ERYPHINA  '8  CHILD.  205 

that  Commore  is  wicked  and  cruel,  of  what  im- 
portance is  the  happiness  of  one  woman  for  a 
few  years  on  earth,  compared  to  the  eternal 
welfare  of  so  many  Christian  souls  ?" 

Poor  Eryphina  trembled  as  she  heard  these 
stern  words.  Her  fear  of  Commore  was  so 
great  that  she  grew  pale  at  the  very  sound  of 
his  name.  But  the  holy  man,  without  heeding 
her,  continued : 

"  Here  is  a  ring  as  white  as  milk.  If  you 
marry  the  Count  of  Cornouailles,  and  if  the 
time  should  ever  come  when  your  life  is  in 
danger,  it  will  immediately  become  as  black  as 
iron  ;  then  send  it  to  the  king  your  father,  and 
he  will  come  and  deliver  you.  It  is  your  fate 
to  marry  Commore.  My  daughter,  fight  no 
longer  against  the  will  of  God." 

Eryphina  dared  not  utter  a  word.  She 
looked  at  the  rin^  shinino;  on  her  finder — the 
fatal  ring  that  was  to  warn  her  of  unknown 
dangers  at  which  she  trembled  beforehand,  and 
then  she  knelt  down  before  the  holy  monk, 
who  accepted  her  mute  submission  and  gave 
her  his  blessing : 

"  May  the  great  God  of  heaven  and  his  only 
son  Jesus  Christ  bless  you  in  life,  and  after 
death  receive  you  into  paradise,"  said  Veltas, 


206  LITTLE  MISS  PEGGY. 

as  lie  hastened  away  to  stop  the  march  of  the 
soldiers  of  Commore. 

The  king  at  first  tried  to  shake  Eryphina's 
resolution ;  but  the  poor  child  had  made  a  vow 
to  Our  Lady  to  offer  herself  up  as  a  martyr  in 
order  to  prevent  the  massacre  of  so  many  help- 
less souls  ;  and  the  King  of  Vannes,  who  knew 
that  he  was  less  powerful  than  his  enemy,  was 
obliged  to  submit.  His  daughter  must  be  sac- 
rificed that  his  people  might  be  saved.  It  is 
sometimes  a  hard  thing  to  be  a  princess. 

Commore  was  in  high  goocl-humor  when  he 
arrived  at  the  court  of  the  King  of  Vannes. 
Satisfaction  in  having  obtained  the  object  of 
his  desire,  Eryphina's  great  beauty  and  sweet- 
ness, the  riches  displayed  during  the  marriage 
festivities,  all  combined  to  soften  the  ferocity 
of  his  temper.  Although  he  had  seen  thirty- 
five  summers,  he  was  still  handsome  and  young- 
looking  ;  he  was  very  tall,  and  so  strong  that 
he  could  lift  an  ox  by  his  horns ;  and  his  eyes 
were  bright  and  fine,  but  full  of  fire.  The  king, 
who  had  conceived  a  very  bad  opinion  of  his 
future  son-in-law,  was  agreeably  surprised  to 
find  him  so  gay  and  handsome,  and  began  to 
hope  for  the  best. 

After  the  marriage  festival,    which    lasted 


ERYPHINA'S  (JHILD.  207 

three  days,  during  which  a  hundred  oxen  and 
three  hundred  sheep  were  killed  and  distrib- 
uted among  the  people,  Commore  took  his 
young  wife  home.  St.  Veltas  blessed  her  as 
she  departed :  "  Paradise  is  yours,"  he  said  ; 
"but  you  must  first  endure  the  sufferings  of 
earth." 

Eryphina  trembled  and  raised  her  eyes  to 
heaven.  She  had  made  her  sacrifice,  and  re- 
grets would  come  too  late. 

For  some  months  all  went  well.  The  young 
countess  often  asked  herself  how  Commore 
could  have  been  called  cruel.  He  was  always 
kind  to  her ;  and  as  he  was  very  clever,  he 
found  a  hundred  ways  of  amusing  his  youug 
wife,  so  that  she  hardly  regretted  the  country 
she  had  left.  Every  day  some  new  pleasure 
awaited  her,  every  day  rich  presents  assured 
her  of  her  husband's  love.  She  quite  lost  the 
habit  of  looking  at  her  ring,  as  she  had  done 
continually  at  first. 

"  What  danger  could  threaten  me  while 
Commore  is  near  me  ?"  she  said,  forgetting  that 
it  was  Commore  himself  of  whom  she  had  been 
formerly  afraid.  The  people  of  the  black 
country  no  longer  knew  their  lord. 

"  He  must  be  either  ill  or  bewitched,"  said  his 


208  LITTLE  MISS  PEGG  Y. 

•nearest  attendants,  "  for  he  has  ceased  to  care 
for  blood."  When  any  one  was  so  unfortunate 
enough  to  displease  him  and  his  eyes  began  to 
flash,  a  word  from  the  countess  would  soften 
his  wrath  and  procure  for  the  culprit  a  mild- 
er punishment.  In  all  the  churches  and  mon- 
asteries of  the  black  country  the  people  offered 
up  prayers  to  God  for  the  long  life  of  Ery- 
phina. 

Commore  had  given  a  large  domain  to  St. 
Veltas  on  which  to  build  a  monastery,  and  the 
saint  often  came  to  visit  the  countess.  When 
she  spoke  to  him  timidly  of  her  happiness — 
for  she  was  ashamed  of  the  fears  she  had  for- 
merly expressed — he  shook  his  head.  "  We 
are  born  to  suffer,"  he  said,  with  a  grave  look ; 
and  when  he  had  passed  beyond  the  threshold 
of  the  castle,  he  repeated  to  himself  in  Latin 
these  words  of  the  prophet :  "  Can  the  Ethio- 
pian-change  his  skin,  or  the  leopard  his  spots  V 
He  had  no  faith  in  the  new-born  mildness  of 
Commore. 

After  some  time  the  management  of  his  af- 
fairs called  the  lord  of  the  black  country  to  a 
distance  ;  his  wife  wept,  and  begged  that  she 
might  go  with  him.  "No,"  said  Commore, 
"  amuse  thyself  in  my  absence  ;  thou  wilt  be 


EU  YPHWA  'S  CHILI).  209 

absolute  mistress  of  everything  here,  and  I  will 
soon  return  to  thee.1' 

"  I  shall  never  leave  the  castle  in  thy  ab- 
sence," said  the  countess  ;  "  how  could  I  amuse 
myself  when  thou  art  far  away  ?" 

On  his  return,  the  count  found  his  wife  look- 
ing pale  from  long  confinement  to  the  house ; 
but  she  blushed  with  pleasure  and  confusion 
as  she  met  her  husband  and  showed  him  the 
work  she  held  in  her  hand — a  small  cap  of  silk 
tissue,  trimmed  with  silver  lace. 

"  This,"  she  said,  looking  down,  "  this  will 
be  for  my  little  baby." 

Commore's  eyes  flashed  angrily  ;  then,  shud- 
dering, he  left  his  wife  without  a  word,  without 
an  embrace. 

Now,  for  the  first  time,  Eryphina  saw  in  her 
lord's  face  the  terrible  look  wmich  made  him 
so  much  feared.  She  threw  herself  trembling 
at  the  foot  of  her  crucifix,  and  her  eyes  sought 
involuntarily  for  the  silver  ring,  half -hidden 
among  the  many  costly  rings  with  which  her 
husband  had  loaded  her  fingers.  She  hardly 
knew  it  again ;  it  had  become  quite  black  ! 

Eryphina,  who  was  naturally  timid,  stood 
petrified  with  terror  at  this  unknown  danger 
with   which   she  was  threatened.     At  the  ban- 


210  LITTLE  MISS  PEGGY. 

quet  which  she  had  prepared  for  him,  her  hus- 
band sat  silent  and  gloomy,  and  she  was  as 
pale  as  a  white  rose.  When  night  came,  she 
could  not  sleep  under  her  tapestry  curtains. 
At  midnight,  as  she  lay  awake,  the  hangings 
which  covered  the  walls  of  the  room  shook  as 
if  blown  by  the  night  wind,  and  one  by  one 
four  pale  shadows  appeared  gliding  noiselessly 
to  the  foot  of  the  bed  where  she  lay. 

Half -dead  with  terror,  she  looked  at  them, 
but  could  not  speak.  The  first,  pale,  with 
livid  lips  and  long  fair  hair,  said,  in  a  low 
voice  : 

"  I  am  Dalmet,  Commore's  first  wife." 

The  second,  who  had  marks  of  discoloration 
on  her  throat,  said,  in  a  dull,  muffled  voice  : 

"  I  am  Finlas,  the  second  wife  of  Commore." 

A  bloody  wound  yawned  on  the  bosom  of 
the  third. 

"  I  am  Haik,"  she  said,  "  the  third  wife  of 
Commore." 

The  fourth,  whose  face  bore  marks  of  blows, 
said : 

"  It  is  I,  Mola,  the  count's  last  wife  before 
thee." 

Then  all  four  spoke  together. 

"  It  is  thy  turn  now,"  they  said.     "  It  was 


ER  YPHINA  'S  CHILD.  211 

foretold  him  that  his  first  child  would  kill 
him.  We  have  all  paid  with  our  lives  for  this 
prophecy." 

Eryphina  raised  herself  up  in  bed ;  maternal 
instinct  gave  her  courage.  It  was  not  herself 
alone  she  had  to  save,  but  the  child  that  God 
might  send  her.  Could  she  save  it  ?  She 
murmured  between  her  trembling  lips  : 

"  I  must  fly,  but  how  can  I  fly  ?" 

"  Take  this  poison  which  killed  me,"  said  the 
pale  shade  with  the  livid  lips. 

*'  Take  this  rope  which  strangled  me,"  said 
she  of  the  discolored  throat. 

"  Take  this  dagger  which  stabbed  me  to  the 
heart,"  said  the  form  with  the  gaping  wound. 

"  Take  this  stick  which  broke  my  skull,"  said 
the  fourth  wife  of  Commore. 

Eryphina  rose,  but  she  could  not  utter  a 
word  to  her  ghastly  predecessors,  who  disap- 
peared silently  as  they  came.  No  sooner  were 
they  gone  than  the  unhappy  countess  hastened 
to  the  window  and  let  herself  down  from  the 
tower  by  means  of  the  rope  which  Finlas  had 
given  her.  With  the  poison  which  had  killed 
Dalmet  she  silenced  the  great  dog  that  wan- 
dered about  the  court-yard.  And  when  she 
started  on  her  journey,  in   the  dark  night,  to 


212  LITTLE  MISS  PEQG  Y. 

find  her  way  back  to  her  own  country,  she  was 
armed  with  the  dagger  which  had  stabbed 
Haik,  and  the  stick  with  which  Mola  had  been 
killed. 

As  she  proceeded  painfully  on  her  way, 
stumbling  over  the  stones  on  the  road,  catch- 
ing hold  of  the  bushes  in  the  forest,  and  often 
striking  herself  against  the  trunks  of  trees,  she 
heard  overhead  a  rustling  of  wings,  and  by  the 
first  faint  streaks  of  daylight  she  recognized 
her  favorite  falcon  that  she  had  brought  with 
her  from  the  kingdom  of  Vannes. 

"  Falcon,  my  good  falcon,"  she  said  to  it, 
"  thou  canst  go  faster  than  I  to  the  place  where 
my  heart  would  be ;  carry  this  ring  to  my  fa- 
ther, who  will  see  that  I  am  in  danger,  and  will 
hasten  to  help  me."  And  cutting  off  with  the 
dagger  a  lock  of  her  hair,  she  fastened  the  ring 
round  the  neck  of  the  falcon,  which  flew  away 
as  fast  as  if  it  understood  the  extremity  of  its 
mistress. 

Meantime  Commore  had  risen  early,  and 
had  gone  to  seek  for  his  wife.  She  was  no- 
where to  be  found ;  and  when  he  saw  the  rope 
tied  to  the  window  and  his  dog  lying  dead 
in  the  yard,  his  eyes  flashed  fire.  Eryphina's 
women,  and  the  sentinels  at  the  gates,  trembled 


EBYPHINA  '8  CHILD.  213 

as  tliey  looked  at  him.  He  called  for  Iris 
horses  and  rushed  after  the  fugitive,  stopping, 
however,  from  time  to  time  to  search  for  traces 
of  the  small  feet.  He  dashed  across  the  forest, 
and  very  soon  came  to  a  thicket  from  whence 
proceeded  the  cry  of  a  child.  He  sprang  from 
his  horse  with  a  bound,  pushed  aside  the 
branches  with  his  strong  arm,  and  discovered 
Eryphina,  pale  and  terrified,  hiding  in  her 
arms  a  new-born  infant,  whose  feeble  cries  she 
was  in  vain  endeavoring  to  stifle.  Commore's 
sword  flashed  for  one  moment  in  the  air,  and 
the  next  instant  his  wife's  head  rolled  into  the 
brush-wood,  dyeing  the  green  leaves  with  her 
blood.  Then  shuddering  and  never  looking 
behind  him,  he  remounted  and  returned  to  the 
castle.  He  had  forgotten  the  child.  It  lay 
safely  concealed  in  the  dead  woman's  arms. 

It  was  a  feast  day  when  the  falcon  arrived  at 
the  white  country.  The  subjects  of  the  King 
of  Vannes  crowded  all  the  squares  and  market- 
places, for  St.  Veltas  had  come  to  bless  a  new 
church.  The  king  sat  in  the  banquet-hall,  with 
the  monk  by  his  side,  and  all  his  great  men 
around  him.  They  feasted  and  made  merry, 
yet  always  as  became  Christians  in  the  presence 
of   a   holy   priest.     The  falcon  flew  in  at  the 


214 4  LITTLE  MISS  PEGGY. 

window,  and  stationed  itself  on  the  table  in 
front  of  the  king. 

"  What  is  this  ?"  said  the  king.  "  Here  is  the 
falcon  that  my  daughter  Eryphina  took  with 
her  when  she  left  me.  Ah  !  holy  father,  you 
did  well  to  prevent  a  war  between  our  two 
countries  :  no  one  has  suifered  on  her  account, 
and  Eryphina  is  happy." 

"  Do  not  be  too  sure  of  that,"  said  the  monk 
as  he  examined  the  falcon.  The  faithful  bird 
had  brought  back  its  mistress7  ring ;  it  was 
quite  black — Eryphina  was  in  mortal  danger  ! 

The  king  rose  hurriedly.  Not  waiting  for 
his  attendants,  but  ordering  them  to  follow 
him,  he  mounted  his  horse  and  galloped  off, 
St.  Veltas  'following  by  his  side  on  his  accus- 
tomed mule.  This  creature,  without  seeming 
to  hurry  itself,  neither  lost  breath  nor  looked 
fatigued  ;  yet,  fast  as  the  good  war-horse  went, 
the  priest's  gentle  mule  kept  pace  beside  it. 
The  saint  and  the  old  soldier  went  their  way 
together  in  search  of  their  beloved  Eryphina. 

The  king  galloped  through  the  forest  without 
looking  either  to  the  right  or  to  the  left :  St. 
Veltas  said  his  prayers,  and  asked  unceasingly 
for  help  from  Ged.  Suddenly  both  the  horse 
and  the  mule  stopped  before  a  thicket,  from 


ERYPHINA  *8  CHILD.  215 

which  a  plaintive  cry  escaped — a  strange  hoarse 
voice,  which  repeated  without  ceasing  the  same 
words : 

"  Consecrated  ground  for  me,  and  for  my 
child  the  waters  of  baptism !"  With  these 
mournful  accents  mingled  the  feeble  cry  of  an 
infant. 

The  king  trembled  beneath  his  cuirass,  but 
St.  Veltas  made  his  way  into  the  thicket. 
There,  at  his  feet,  lay  the  body  of  Eryphina, 
the  severed  head  uttering  the  words  that  they 
had  heard,  the  infant  still  clasped  in  the  dead 
mother's  arms. 

The  king,  who  had  followed  the  monk  into 
the  thicket,  was  so  overwhelmed  with  grief  and 
rage  that  he  could  not  utter  a  word,  but  the 
priest's  voice  sounded  in  the  silence. 

"  Rise  up,  dead  as  thou  art,"  he  cried,  "  and 
come  to  the  castle  of  the  count,  thy  husband, 
that  thon  mayest  convict  and  punish  him  for 
his  crime." 

As  he  spoke  Eryphina  rose  ;  the  pale  head 
returned  to  its  place.  She  took  her  child  in 
her  arms,  and  went  along  with  the  monk  and 
the  king. 

The  castle  of  Commore  was  closed,  and  well 
guarded  with  soldiers ;  the  count  himself  was 


216  LITTLE  MISS  PEOG  T. 

on  the  ramparts,  disguised,  as  if  he  feared  dis- 
covery, in  the  dress  and  arms  of  a  simple 
squire,  with  the  visor  of  his  helmet  lowered. 
As  the  travelers  approached  the  gates,  St.  Vel- 
tas  called  to  the  sentinels  in  a  loud  voice  : 

"  I  demand  to  see  the  count."  But  no  one 
answered,  for  so  their  master  had  given  orders. 
The  soldiers  continued  their  rounds,  and  the 
pretended  squire  soon  found  himself  face  to 
face  with  his  enemies.  Deep  ditches  and 
high  walls  sheltered  him  from  the  arm  of  the 
avenger,  and  he  felt  himself  safe  from  discov- 
ery behind  his  visor,  but  he  could  not  take  his 
terrified  eyes  away  from  the  sight  which  met 
them — the  dead  Eryphina  walking,  with  her 
living  son  in  her  arms.  Suddenly  the  child 
slipped  down  from  her  breast.  To  the  amaze- 
ment of  all,  the  feeble  infant,  two  hours  old, 
stood  upright  on  its  feet,  and  pointing  an  ac- 
cusing ringer  at  its  father : 

"  Behold  him  !"  it  said  distinctly,  in  a  soft 
strange  voice  ;  then,  stretching  out  its  small 
hand,  picked  up  from  the  ground  a  handful  of 
sand  and  threw  it  against  the  ramparts.  In  an 
instant  the  walls  gave  way,  the  gates  flew  open, 
the  chains  were  broken,  and  the  towers,  shaken 
to  their  very  foundations,  fell  to  the  ground, 


ERTPEINA  '8  CHILD.  217 

burying  every  one  that  was  within  in  their 
ruins. 

"  Alas  !  the  innocent  have  perished  for  the 
guilty,"  exclaimed  the  good  King  of  Vannes. 

But  St.  Veltas  knelt  down  before  the  pile 
of  rains,  and,  making  the  sign  of  the  cross, 
said  : 

"  God  has  executed  justice  on  the  murderer, 
and  taken  the  innocent  to  his  eternal  arms. 
Look  there  !" 

He  pointed  to  Eryphina,  who  lay  stretched 
on  the  ground — a  corpse,  only  a  corpse,  once 
more.  But  there  was  a  smile  upon  the  quiet 
mouth,  and  the  hands,  as  if  there  had  been  life 
in  them  still,  held  fast  her  babe. 

"  God  is  above  all ;  we  do  not  understand 
his  ways,"  said  the  good  priest.  "  Let  us  bury 
the  dead  and  baptize  the  living."  And  lifting 
up  the  child,  now  again  helpless  as  a  new-born 
babe,  he  placed  it  in  its  grandfather's  arms. 


218  LITTLE  MISS  PEGGY. 


JEANDKIN  THE  GOBLIN. 

Theke  were  great  rejoicings  at  the  farm 
of  St.  Araand.  Full  cans  of  cider  went  round 
the  table,  and  many  a  cut  was  made  in  the 
hard  cake.  The  meal  was  nearly  ended,  but 
the  appetites  of  the  guests,  like  their  mirth, 
seemed  without  end.  The  farmer's  son  had 
brought  home  to  his  father's  house  the  new 
wife  whom  he  had  found  in  the  Pays*  de 
France,  whither  he  had  several  times  gone  to 
sell  the  oxen.  From  their  first  meeting,  he 
had  fallen  so  deeply  in  love  with  her  that  he 
never  rested  night  or  day  till  he  obtained  her 
hand.  Her  name  was  Perrine.  She  was  tall 
and  slender,  and  her  blue  eyes  seemed  so  sweet 
to  her  young  husband  that  he  was  constantly 
coming  back  to  look  at  them.  His  old  mother 
also  looked  at  them,  but  with  involuntary  pain 
and   apprehension.     The  farmer's  wife  had  not 

*  The  Norman  peasants  so  designate  the  environs  of 
Paris,  the  ancient  Isle  of  France. 


JEANDRIN  THE  GOBLIN.  219 

been  further  from  home  than  her  own  village. 
She  had  never  even  accompanied  her  husband 
as  far  as  Vire,  where  he  went  once  a  year  for 
the  great  fair.  But  she  had  nevertheless  ac- 
quired experience  of  life  and  character,  and 
her  daughter-in-law's  face  and  expression  had 
chilled  her  from  the  first  moment  when  the 
girl  had  appeared  smiling  on  the  threshold  of 
the  farm.  No  one  observed  the  effort  with 
which  the  old  woman  kissed  the  new-comer 
when  her  husband  helped  her  down  from  the 
cart.  Nor  did  any  one  see  the  anger  which 
for  a  minute  rendered  the  face  of  the  bride 
cold  and  hard  as  steel  when  the  mother  ex- 
claimed : 

"  Welcome  are  the  young  arms  that  come  to 
share  in  the  household  work  !  Welcome  the 
skillful  hands  that  will  spin  the  flax  for  our 
linen  !" 

The  young  damsel  of  the  Pays  de  France 
had  no  intention  of  becoming  the  servant  of  her 
husband's  parents. 

Laughter  and  songs  were  resounding  be- 
neath the  smoke-dried  rafters  of  the  farm, 
when  the  door  was  pushed  softly  open,  and  a 
brown  dog  appeared  on  the  threshold.  He 
had  a  rough   coat   and  red   eyes,  and  was  not 


220  LITTLE  MI88  PEGGY. 

at  all  a  handsome  dog,  though  he  had  a  look 
of  great  intelligence  and  gentleness.  He  ad- 
vanced toward  the  group  of  singers  with  the 
confidence  of  a  child  of  the  house.  The  mis- 
tress stretched  out  her  hand  to  caress  him. 
Her  son,  who  was  leaning  over  his  wife  and 
whispering  soft  words  in  her  ear,  suddenly 
turned  round.  "  Ah  !  here  is  Jeandrin,"  he 
exclaimed  ;  "  how  do  you  do,  Jeandrin  ?"  and 
he  drew  the  head  of  the  animal  toward  his 
young  wife,  who  retreated  with  affected  terror. 
"  I  do  not  like  dogs,"  said  she ;  "  and,  above 
all,  strange  dogs  frighten  me." 

"  But  Jeandrin  is  not  strange,  he  is  my  dog," 
insisted  her  husband.  "  He  came  to  the  farm 
long  ago,  of  his  own  accord,  from  nobody 
knows  where,  and  we  have  been  friends  ever 
since.  '  Love  me,  love  my  dog ;'  is  it  not  so, 
Jeandrin  ?"  | 

The  young  farmer  bent  over  his  favorite  and 
caressed  him,  for  he  had  been  a  little  vexed  by 
his  wife's  behavior.  But  Jeandrin's  eyes  looked 
angry,  and  for  the  firj3t  time  in  his  life  he  had 
a  vicious  expression!  'Pierre  Heurtesant  left 
off  coaxing  his  wife,  and  loosened  the  dog's 
collar  and  called  to  him,  "  Come,  Jeandrin,  and 
have  some  dinner  !"  and  with  one  sweep  of  his 


JEANDRIN  THE  GOBLIN.  221 

tongue  the  dog  swallowed  the  contents  of  the 
dish  of  meat  that  was  still  on  the  table.  The 
bride  smiled  scornfully. 

"  Is  it  the  custom  here  for  dogs  to  eat  with 
Christians  ?"  asked  she. 

"Jeandrin  is  almost  a  Christian,"  said  her 
husband,  smiling  ;  "  since  he  came  to  us  six  years 
ago,  on  a  snowy  December  night,  we  have  not 
lost  an  ox,  and  the  cows  give  milk  winter  as 
well  as  summer.  No  one  has  been  ill,  and 
prosperity  has  accompanied  me,  even  to  the 
Pays  de  France,  where  I  met  you." 

Perrine  began  to  laugh.  She  had  been  mar- 
ried for  a  month,  and  loved  her  husband  as 
much  as  she  could  love  any  one. 

No  one  present  appeared  surprised  at  the 
liberty  taken  by  Jeandrin,  or  ventured  to  dis- 
turb him,  now  that  he  was  satisfied  and  lying 
stretched  at  his  full  length  before  the  fire. 

The  young  wife  wanted  to  warm  her  little 
hands,  having  washed  them  after  serving  the 
guests,  and  particularly  the  poor  ones,  in  ac- 
cordance with  the  pious  custom  at  feasts  in 
Brittany,  and  even  Normandy.  Her  husband, 
who  followed  her  every  where,  passed  his  hands 
gently  over  Jeandrin's  back,  who,  half-awak- 
ened, made   a   little  room  beside  the   fire  for 


222  LITTLE  MISS  PEGG  Y. 

Perrine ;  but  when  she  seemed  to  encroach  on 
his  domain,  the  dog  growled.  The  old  woman 
came  to  the  chimney  corner. 

"  Jeandrin  is  tired,"  said  she,  "  and  he  must 
be  allowed  to  sleep." 

Perrine  colored  deeply.  She  made  no  an- 
swer, but  from  that  day  she  entertaiDed  a  strong 
aversion  to  the  animal  that  had  already  drawn 
upon  her  the  disapprobation  of  both  her  mother- 
in-law  and  of  her  husband. 

"  By  and  by  I  will  find  out  how  to  get  rid 
of  that  detestable  creature,"  thought  she,  be- 
fore she  went  to  sleep.  But  the  wind  whis- 
tling between  the  open  beams  and  the  rats 
that  ran  about  the  floor  of  her  room  troubled 
her  so  much  that  she  forgot  Jeandrin  for  a 
time.  She  had  always  lived  in  towns,  and 
the  mysterious  night  noises  of  the  country 
filled  her  with  terror.  In  the  morning,  she 
woke  wearied  with  the  disturbed  night  she 
had  passed,  and  came  down  embarrassed  at 
rinding  herself  the  last  at  the  family  meal. 
The  barking  of  a  dog  was  heard  in  the  dis- 
tance. 

"  Jeandrin  has  brought  the  cows  from  the 
upper  meadows,  and  is  taking  them  to  the  lower 
field,"  said  the  farmer's  wife  to  her  husband, 


JEANDRIN  THE  GOBLIN.  223 

as  if  she  had  been  speaking  of  a  faithful  and 
intelligent  servant. 

The  dog  again  made  his  appearance  panting, 
with  his  tongue  hanging  out,  and,  as  he  had 
done  the  day  before,  he  looked  on  the  table 
for  his  meal.  The  farmer  handed  him  his 
plate. 

Perrine  drew  back  her  chair  and  put  up 
both  her  hands,  as  if  to  protect  herself  from  the 
dog.  Her  father-in-law  laughed  as  he  said,  in 
the  tone  of  authority  of  a  man  accustomed  to 
be  obeyed,  "  You  must  get  used  to  Jeandrin." 

The  young  wife,  who  was  an  only  daughter 
and  accustomed  to  be  petted,  gave  no  answer 
but  an  expressive  pout ;  and  when,  with  her 
sleeves  tucked  up,  she  helped  to  wash  the 
breakfast-things,  she  scornfully  pushed  away 
the  plate  that  Jeanclrin  had  used. 

"lam  not  going  to  wash  the  dog's  plate," 
muttered  she  between  her  teeth 

The  mother  saw  it  all,  but  neither  spoke  nor 
laughed,  as  her  husband  had  done.  She  au- 
gured no  good  for  her  son's  happiness,  from  the 
tone  and  manner  of  the  bride. 

The  wedding  festivities  were  over,  and  every- 
body had  to  return  to  work.  Perrine  was 
intelligent  and  clever.     Whenever  she  put  her. 


224  LITTLE  MISS  PEGQ  Y. 

hand  to  household  affairs  they  prospered. 
Her  husband  was  often  absent.  He  had  re- 
turned to  the  Pays  de  France  in  charge  of  a 
troop  of  oxen,  and  his  wife  remained  at  the 
farm.  When  he  came  home  after  his  long 
journey  he  found  his  mother  ill  and  out  of 
spirits  ;  but  Perrine  was  laughing  and  singing. 
She  went  to  and  fro  in  the  house,  ordering  the 
servants  in  a  hard,  dry  voice,  and  with  much 
more  imperiousness  of  tone  than  they  had  been 
accustomed  to  from  the  old  mistress.  They 
obeyed,  however,  and  the  farmer  was  delighted 
with  his  daughter-in-law  and  her  good  manage- 
ment. 

"  You  have  brought  us  a  fairy  from  that  dis- 
tant region,"  said  he  to  his  son.  "  She  does  as 
she  likes,  and  no  one  dares  to  oppose  her ;  even 
old  Placide  himself,  who  always  growls,  is 
pleased  when  she  speaks  to  him." 

"  And  Jeandrin  ?"  asked  the  young  man, 
smiling,  and  happy  to  hear  the  praises  of  his 
wife.     The  old  man's  brow  grew  clouded. 

"  Jeandrin  is  not  good,"  answered  he,  in  a 
low  voice. 

"  Has  he  been  at  his  tricks  V  asked  Pierre. 
"  Has  he  tied  the  cows  by  the  tail  ?" 

u  If  it  was  only   that  !"     And  the  old  man 


JEANDRIN  THE  GOBLIN.  225 

smiled,  in  spite  of  himself,  at  the  recollection  of 
the  astonishment  of  his  daughter-in-law  when 
she  had  gone  early  in  the  morning  to  the  cow- 
house to  milk  the  cows,  and  had  found  the 
best  milch-cows  lowing  piteously,  and  tied  by 
their  tails  to  their  racks.  "  He  had  milked 
them  all  in  the  night,"  continued  the  old  man, 
"-and  thrown  the  milk  in  the  gutter.  He  had 
mixed  water  with  the  cheese-curdle  stun0,*  and 
your  mother  for  once  lost  patience  when  she 
found  all  her  fowls  shut  up  far  away  from  their 
chickens." 

Pierre  shook  his  head  gravely* 

"  He  must  have  been  very  wicked,"  said  he ; 
and,  without  adding  more,  he  determined  to 
find  out  the  cause  of  Jeandrin's  misconduct. 
Such  heaps  of  offenses  to  be  laid  upon  one  poor 
dog  ! 

Perrine  had  appeared  greatly  delighted  by 
the  return  of  her  husband.  But  when  she  saw 
him  occupied  about  the  health  of  his  mother, 
and  ready  to  caress  the  detested  dog,  and  at- 
tentively watching  his  movements,  a  spirit  of 
restlessness  took  possession  of  her.  She  went 
to  and  fro  without  any  object,  and  persisted  in 

*  The  country  name  for  the  liquor  used  to  curdle  the 
milk. 


226  LITTLE  MISS  PEGG 7. 

following  her  father-in-law  everywhere — even 
when  Pierre  wanted  her  to  stay  in  the  house  or 
go  with  him  to  the  fields. 

The  mistress  shook  her  head  sadly,  but  she 
was  ill  and  had  no  spirit  for  a  contest.  Her 
husband  now  saw  everything  with  Perrine's 
eyes,  and  the  poor  mother  perceived  with  a 
great  pang  that  when  this  damsel  of  the  Pays 
de  France  set  her  foot  on  the  threshold,  she 
had  destroyed  the  peace  as  well  as  the  good- 
fortune  of  the  house.  She  would  sometimes 
take  Pierre's  head  between  her  hands,  as  she 
used  to  do  when  he  was  little,  and  kiss  him  in 
silence.  The  young  man  was  also  sorrowful. 
All  the  remedies  of  the  old  wives  of  the  parish 
did  not  succeed  in  restoring  his  mother  to 
health ;  and,  without  being  exactly  aware  of 
it,  he  felt  that  his  dreams  of  happiness  were 
vanishing  away. 

Meanwhile  he  had  in  vain  watched  his  wife ; 
he  could  discover  no  trace  of  animosity  toward 
Jeandrin.  The  dog  continued  sullen  when  in 
the  house  (out-of-doors  he  always  recovered 
his  gayety),  yet  he  had  his  usual  place  by 
the  fireside.  Perrine  no  longer  shrugged  her 
shoulders  when  the  head  of  the  animal  appeared 
on  the  table  and  he  possessed   himself  with- 


JEANDRIN  THE  GOBLIN.  227 

out  ceremony  of  the  best  piece  on  the  dish. 
And  it  was  apparently  Jeandrin  who  was 
always  in  the  wrong,  for  he  growled  and  showed 
his  teeth  whenever  the  young  wife  passed  near 
him. 

"  The  dog  dislikes  you  very  much,"  said 
Pierre  ;  "  what  have  you  done  to  him  V 

Perrine  smiled  disdainfully,  and  only  an- 
swered, "  He  is  jealous.  He  thinks  you  like 
me  better  than  him." 

But  this  plausible  explanation  was  not  enough 
for  the  young  man,  who,  like  his  mother  and 
all  the  people  about  the  farm,  was  convinced 
that  a  good  spirit  lived  within  the  ill-favored 
form  of  the  faithful,  clever  old  dog. 

The  mistress  grew  weaker  and  weaker  every 
day.  If  Pierre  had  consulted  his  wife  on  the 
cause  of  her  illness  and  melancholy  she  would 
perhaps  have  attributed  them  also  to  jealousy. 
Alas  !  there  was  no  need  to  tell  the  son  that 
the  young  wife  whom  he  had  brought  from  so 
far  was  not  kind  to  the  old  mother.  He  saw 
it  plain  enough.  But  Norman  people  are  silent 
and  reserved  ;  and  he  did  not  reproach  his  wife, 
but  redoubled  his  attentions  to  his  mother, 
trying  to  be  both  daughter  and  son  to  her  in 
one. 


228  LITTLE  MISS  PUGG  Y. 

The  farmer  could  not,  or  would  not,  see  that 
his  wife  was  dying.  It  was  the  time  of  the 
great  fair,  and  he  had  to  sell  and  buy  oxen. 
He  saddled  his  pony,  and  set  out  with  two 
men  to  drive  them  to  the  market.  Jeandrin 
was  generally  his  companion  on  his  distant  ex- 
peditions ;  but  this  time  when,  at  the  last  min- 
ute, the  dog  was  called,  he  answered  neither  to 
whistle  nor  voice,  and  the}'  were  obliged  to  set 
out  without  him.  The  men  remarked  to  each 
other,  "  We  are  going  to  have  some  mischance, 
and  that  is  why  Jeandrin  will  not  come," 

The  farmer  had  been  gone  twelve  days,  and 
his  wife  had  now  taken  completely  to  her  bed. 
For  the  first  time  since  the  birth  of  her  son — 
the  last  of  her  children,  and  the  only  one  that 
remained  to  her — she  ceased  to  be  the  first  to 
rise,  the  most  active  to  work,  the  readiest  to 
bear  the  burdens  of  the  day.  Pierre  was  be- 
side her.  He  had  summoned  the  priest,  and 
the  dying  woman  had  received  the  communion. 
She  had  fallen  back  exhausted  on  her  pillows, 
whispering  to  her  son  the  solemn  words  of  her 
last  adieu.  "  Be  kind  to  your  father,"  said  she. 
"  He  will  grieve  deeply  when  he  returns  and 
does  not  find  me  here.  Also,  be  good  to  Jean- 
drin ;  he  is  not  happy  at  present."     And  then 


JEANDRIN  THE  GOBLIN.  229 

lowering  her  voice  again,  as  if  she  feared  even 
now  to  wound  her  son :  "  Look  after  your  wife, 
and  may  God  help  you." 

Pierre  understood,  but  did  not  reply.  He 
felt  in  his  heart  a  cold  fear  that  Perrine  would 
not  console  him  for  the  loss  of  his  mother,  as 
Kebecca  consoled  Isaac  in  the  plains  of  Canaan 
for  the  loss  of  Sarah. 

Perrine  was  now  mistress  and  queen  in  the 
kitchen,  the  dairy,  the  cow-house,  the  poultry- 
yard.  Her  mother-in-law  had  never  opposed 
her,  never  countermanded  one  of  her  orders ; 
but  the  sweet,  sad  face  of  the  old  mistress,  her 
silent  activity,  and  her  established  authority 
had  been  displeasing  to  the  young  wife.  The 
servants  obeyed  Perrine  without  a  reply,  but 
it  was  always  to  their  old  mistress  that  they 
had  gone  for  orders.  Now  she  was  no  longer 
among  them,  and  the  dawn  of  a  new  day  had 
besmn. 

Pierre  was  absorbed  in  his  grief ;  twice  he 
had  gone  down  to  the  kitchen  for  some  cor- 
dial needed  for  the  invalid.  He  had  never 
asked  Perrine  to  come  into  the  sick-room,  and 
she  had  not  offered  her  services,  but  employed 
herself  in  inaugurating  her  reign  in  the 
house. 


230  LITTLE  MISS  PEGGY. 

It  was  an  autumn  evening,  and  the  serving 
men  were  coming  in  one  after  the  other,  forced 
by  the  young  mistress  to  rub  their  feet  on  the 
mat  at  the  door  before  crossing  the  threshold, 
and  grumbling  among  themselves  at  the  whims 
of  this  town  girl,  so  different  from  their  coun- 
try ways.  Jeandrin  slipped  in  with  them,  and 
they  drew  back  to  let  him  pass.  The  dog  had 
been  running  all  day,  and  his  rough  coat  was 
covered  with  mud.  His  large  paws  left  their 
traces  on  the  newly  washed  floor  of  the  kitchen ; 
but  Jeandrin,  no  way  disturbed  by  that,  made 
straight  for  the  fireside.  The  soup  was  cooking 
slowly  in  the  large  kettle  over  a  clear  fire,  and 
Pierre's  supper  was  waiting  for  him  under  a 
plate  on  the  hearth. 

Perrine  was  a  good  housekeeper,  and  attended 
to  her  husband's  needs.  Jeandrin  pushed  over 
the  plate  with  his  paw,  and  the  delicate  morsel 
reserved  for  the  master  was  swallowed  by  the 
dog  before  the  young  woman  had  time  to  in- 
terfere. It  was  too  much.  Perrine  seized  the 
tongs  that  had  fallen  by  chance  on  the  hearth, 
and  pressed  Jeandrin's  nose  between  the  two 
red-hot  irons.  "  I  will  punish  you,  you  wicked 
dog  !"  cried  she. 

Jeandrin  freed  himself  in  a  moment.     The 


JEANDR1N  THE  OOBLIN.  231 

creature  seemed  suddenly  to  become  larger ; 
he  raised  his  head  as  if  he  had  not  felt  the 
burn,  and  walked  backward  toward  the  door, 
his  look  fixed  on  the  enemy.  The  men,  pet- 
rified by  superstitious  fear,  remained  in  their 
places  without  moving.  Jeandrin  pushed  open 
the  half -closed  door,  and  his  gleaming  eyes 
shot  a  last  look  of  anger  at  Perrine.  As  he 
crossed  the  threshold,  he  uttered  a  long  howl. 
Then  the  heavy  door  closed  on  him,  and  at  the 
same  moment  Pierre  rushed  into  the  room,  ex- 
claiming, "  My  mother  is  dead  I" 

When  the  laborers  went  out  at  daybreak 
the  next  morning,  they  were  surprised  to  see 
the  mark  of  a  horse's  hoof  deeply  impressed 
on  the  door-stone.  "  We  have  always  declared 
that  Jeandrin  was  not  a  dog  like  other  dogs," 
said  they  as  they  went  to  their  work.  "  He 
must  have  been  a  goblin — a  good  goblin — who 
came  to  the  farm  for  the  love  of  the  dear  old 
mistress  who  is  gone.  We  shall  never  see 
either  of  them  more." 

They  never  did.  Neither  then  nor  at  any 
other  time  was  the  quaint  figure  of  kind  Jean- 
drin seen  lying  at  the  hearth  or  trotting  about 
the  farm.  His  body  was  never  found,  and,  by 
the  shape  of  the  horse's  hoof  left  on  the  road, 


232  LITTLE  MISS  PEGG  Y. 

they  conjectured  that  the  goblin,  as  goblins 
do,  had  suddenly  changed  his  shape  before  he 
went  away,  to  bring  to  some  other  household 
the  prosperity  which  was  no  longer  in  this 
one.  For  all  the  good  luck  of  the  farm  de- 
parted with  Jeandrin.  When  the  farmer  re- 
turned, he  had  not  sold  his  oxen.  For  the 
first  time  in  his  life  his  pony  had  stumbled, 
fallen,  and  broken  its  knees.  And  when  he 
entered  and  heard  his  wife  was  dead,  he  too 
fell  down  broken-hearted.  Gentleness  and 
harmony  ceased  with  the  old  mother's  life. 
Pierre's  journeys  from  home  became  more  and 
more  frequent.  He  fled  from  Perrine's  hard, 
unloving  rule.  By  way  of  consolation,  the 
farmer  drank  all  the  brandy  he  could  get  from 
his  cider.  Every  time  he  crossed  the  door- 
stone  he  trembled  at  sight  of  the  mysterious 
hoof-prints,  which  no  efforts  succeeded  in 
removing  from  the  road. 

"Jeandrin  and  good-fortune  came  with  the 
old  wife  and  goodness,"  said  he,  "  and  now  both 
have  gone  away  together.  I'll  go  too — the 
sooner  the  better."  So  one  day  he  laid  him 
down  and  died. 


THE  WONDERFUL  TURKEY.  233 


THE   WONDERFUL  TURKEY. 

It  was  almost  the  end  of  the  Carnival.  All 
the  good  housewives  in  Caumont  had  laid  in  a 
good  store  of  flour  and  eggs  for  pancakes,  and 
the  children  were  going  about  the  streets  sing- 
ing the  accustomed  rhyme : 

"  Shrove-Tnesday,  Shrove-Tuesday, 
Come  home,  come  home; 
We  are  going  to  make  pancakes, 
And  yon  shall  have  some." 

"It  was  on  this  day  that  Mother  Sandret 
used  to  sell  so  dear  the  eggs  that  she  had  kept 
all  winter,"  said  a  woman  who  was  standing  at 
the  door  of  her  cottage.  "  It  was  an  unknown 
man  who  bought — a  fairy,"  she  said.  "  I  wish 
he  would  come  to  me — I  wish  something  would 
happen  to  us  to-night." 

"  Hush  !"  said  a  little  girl,  pulling  her  by 
the  skirt,  with  her  pretty  face  full  of  terror. 
"  Hush,  mother,  or  the  fairies  will  hear.    Didn't 


234  LITTLE  MISS  PEG  Q  Y. 

Mother  Sandret  one  night  see  a  man  all  in 
white,  who  took  her  eggs  and  threw  them  into 
the  dust-basket,  and  yet  in  the  morning  not  a 
single  one  was  broken  ?" 

"  I  have  heard  yonr  grandmother  say  so," 
answered  Rosalie  Lys,  lowering  her  voice. 
"  But  it  is  getting  dark ;  perhaps  we  had  better 
not  talk  of  these  things.  Your  father  will 
soon  be  coming  home  from  work ;  the  poor  man 
will  be  very  tired,  and  sad,  too — for  he  knows 
that  he  will  find  nothing  ready  at  home  for 
Shrove-Tuesclay.  Oh,  I  wish  he  might  meet  a 
fairy,  after  all." 

"  Ah,  mother,  there  will  be  pancakes  !"  cried 
the  little  girl.  "  The  hens  have  laid  on  pur- 
pose." 

"  And  they  have  done  well,"  muttered  the 
mother,  "for  there  is  nothing  either  in  the 
salting-tub  or  the  cupboard." 

"  Never  mind ;  the  hens  have  laid,"  repeated 
the  child.  It  was  late ;  the  tired-out  workmen 
were  returning  from  their  labors  ;  the  day  had 
ended :  the  children  had  gone  to  bed  early,  in 
order  to  hasten  the  coming  of  this  Shrove- 
Tuesclay,  for  which  they  had  waited  so  long. 
Marin  Lys  stood  chatting  with  his  fellow  work- 
man, Pierre  Doucet,  who  had  been  digging 
with  him  all  day  in  the  trench, 


THE  WONDERFUL  TURKEY.  235 

"  Are  you  going  to  work  to-morrow  !"  asked 
Marin. 

"  No,  no,"  said  Pierre ;  "  Shrove-Tuesday 
comes  only  once  a  year,  and  I  mean  to  enjoy 
myself  a  little  at  the  Broom-Bough.*  My 
wife  and  the  children  may  do  as  well  as  they 
can  at  home." 

"  I  must  finish  the  trench  all  alone,  then," 
sighed  Marin.  "  My  wife  and  children  cannot 
do  without  bread,  and  we  have  got  on  so  badly 
this  last  year  that  we  are  never  a  day  ahead." 

"  Women  can  make  pancakes  with  water," 
sneered  Pierre,  and  then  the  two  men  parted. 

Marin  walked  on  without  looking  round 
him.  His  feet,  accustomed  to  the  road,  followed 
its  windings  without  his  needing  to  trouble 
himself  to  avoid  the  cart-ruts,  or  pools  of  water, 
or  loose  stones  ;  a  little  new  moon  cast  on  his 
steps  a  faint  light ;  but  the  tired  workman 
looked  forward  impatiently  to  the  moment 
when  he  should  first  catch  sip-lit  of  the  feeble 
glimmer  of  the  candle  burning  in  his  cottage. 

On  emerging  from  a  path  that  was  bordered 
by  great  oaks  and   thick  under- wood,  he  sud- 

*  A  common  public-house  sign  in  some  parts  of  Nor- 
mandy. 


236  LITTLE  MISS  PEGGY. 

denly  stopped  at  a  little  open  glade  formed  by 
the  meeting  of  four  roads.  Wonderful  sight ! 
A  bright  light  dazzled  his  eyes.  He  saw  upon 
the  ground  a  great  white  cloth.  At  each  of  its 
four  corners  a  torch  was  burning ;  in  the  mid- 
dle, sitting  like  a  tailor,  with  his  legs  crossed, 
was  a  man,  clothed  in  a  curious  dress,  counting 
gold  from  a  heap  that  lay  before  him.  An 
enormous  heap  it  was.  The  man  plunged  and 
replunged  his  hands  into  it,  causing  a  metallic 
ring  that  echoed  in  the  peasant's  unaccustomed 
ears  like  strange  music. 

Marin  did  not  dare  to  stir.  It  was  in  vain 
that  he  tried  to  move  his  feet ;  in  order  to  get 
home,  he  must  cross  the  glade,  but  the  sight 
of  the  gold  fascinated  him.  The  mysterious 
stranger  had  never  raised  his  eyes,  but  pres- 
ently, as  he  made  a  pile  of  the  sparkling  golden 
pieces,  he  muttered  these  words  in  a  hollow 
whisper  :  "  Take  some,  but  leave  some." 

Marin  had  not  dreamed  at  first  of  getting 
possession  of  any  of  the  treasure  for  himself ; 
but  now  the  thought  of  his  wife  and  children, 
and  of  the  joy  that  he  should  cause  by  bring- 
ing home  ever  so  small  a  portion  of  this  pile 
of  gold,  was  too  much  for  him.  He  stretched 
out  his  hand  and  took  one  piece — only  one ; 


THE  WONDERFUL  TURKEY.  237 

but  it  was  more  money  than  he  had  ever  pos- 
sessed in  his  life.  Then,  ill  at  ease,  not  know- 
ins;  whether  he  had  done  right  or  wrong,  he 
bounded  over  the  white  cloth,  and  took  to  his 
heels  without  ever  looking  behind  him. 

He  ran  in  the  direction  of  his  own  cottage, 
but  after  a  little  his  step  began  to  get  slower ; 
he  grew  more  and  more  uneasy,  and  at  last  he 
stopped  altogether.  "  It  is  devil's  money,"  he 
said,  looking  at  the  piece  of  gold  in  his  hand, 
and  expecting  to  see  it  changed  into  a  dry  leaf. 
But  no ;  the  gold  still  sparkled  before  his  eyes, 
and  it  bore  the  king's  stamp.  "  At  any  rate,  I 
have  not  earned  this  money,  and  I  don't  know 
where  it  has  come  from,"  the  honest  peasant 
went  on.  "  Perhaps  it  may  bring  trouble  on 
my  wife  and  children  !"  Poor  Marin  sighed 
bitterly.  He  thought  of  the  misfortunes  that 
overwhelmed  him — his  wife  ill,  his  cow  dead, 
his  children  sickly  ;  he  made  the  sign  of  the 
cross.  "  All  that  is  God's  will,"  he  said ;  "  but 
this  money  burns  my  fingers."  And  all  at 
once,  turning  round  as  if  he  was  afraid  of  his 
resolution  giving  way,  he  rapidly  retraced  his 
steps,  and  soon  came  once  more  to  the  little 
glade.  The  stranger  was  still  there,  counting 
his    treasure.     Marin    came   forward    without 


238  LITTLE  MISS  PEGG  Y. 

hesitation,  and  placed  his  piece  of  gold  beside 
the  rest.  The  man  lifted  np  his  eyes  no  more 
than  he  had  done  before,  but  only  said  in  the 
same  sepulchral  voice,  "  Thou  hast  done  wisely. 
Wealth  ill-acquired  profits  nobody."  And  then 
Marin  never  stood  still  again  till  he  reached 
the  threshold  of  his  own  house. 

Pierre,  meanwhile,  had  been  going  his  way ; 
he  had  not  hurried  himself,  although  he  was 
tired.  His  wife  was  a  scold,  his  children  al- 
ways dirty  and  frightened ;  for  his  selfishness 
and  his  frequent  visits  to  the  public-house  had 
borne  their  natural  fruits.  Pierre  and  Sera- 
phine  were  as  poor  as  Marin  and  Rosalie,  but 
they  did  not,  like  Marin  and  Rosalie,  love  one 
another,  nor  trust,  as  they  did,  in  the  God 
who  helps  the  poor  and  unfortunate. 

The  moon  was  hidden  by  clouds,  and  the 
muddy  road  was  so  impassable  that  Pierre 
thought  he  would  climb  over  the  fence  that 
separated  it  from  the  fields.  Everything  was 
quite  quiet ;  the  few  houses  scattered  amid 
the  meadows  were  far  off.  As  Pierre  put  his 
foot  on  one  of  the  wooden  bars  of  the  fence,  he 
heard  in  the  hedge  close  to  him  the  convulsive 
movements  of  some  living  creature. 

"  Who  is  there  ?"  he  cried  in  a  low  voice, 
rather  husky  with  fear. 


THE  WONDERFUL  TURKEY.  239 

There  came  no  answer,  except  a  sound  as  of 
the  wings  of  a  wounded  animal  beating  against 
some  obstacle  ;  and  then  Pierre,  stretching  out 
his  hand,  caught  hold  of  the  feathers  of  a  large 
bird  which  had  got  imprisoned  amid  the 
branches  of  a  hazel  tree. 

"  Oh,  it's  a  turkey  !"  cried  he.  "  How  has  it 
got  here,  so  far  from  home  ?  It  is  my  good 
luck  that  sends  it  in  my  way  for  Shrove-Tues- 
day."  And,  without  a  moment's  hesitation, 
he  seized  the  bird,  and  stuffed  it  into  the  bag 
which  he  carried  on  his  shoulder.  "  Suppose 
I  take  it  to  Mother  Celestine !"  he  said  to  him- 
self as  he  walked  on.  "  She  would  make  it 
into  a  feast  for  me  all  by  myself."  But  the 
thought  that  the  landlady  at  the  public-house 
might  perhaps  recognize  the  turkey,  which  no 
doubt  belonged  to  some  of  the  neighbors,  made 
him  rather  afraid  of  indulging  in  this  selfish 
plan.  "  My  wife  and  the  children  will  have  to 
content  themselves  with  the  skin  and  bones," 
he  said  presently  to  himself  as  he  went  on  to- 
ward the  poor  dilapidated  cottage  that  shel- 
tered Seraphine  and  his  little  ones. 

As  the  workman  came  into  his  hut,  the 
screams  of  the  children,  who  were  disputing 
with   one    another,  ceased    suddenly,  for   they 


240  LITTLE  MISS  PEQG  T. 

were  afraid  of  their  father's  anger.  The  young- 
er ones  crouched  in  the  chimney-corner;  the 
elder  threw  themselves  down  upon  the  heap 
of  dried  leaves  which  served  for  their  bed,  and 
pretended  to  be  asleep.  Seraphine,  with  her 
dress  all  in  rags,  her  eyes  red,  and  her  face 
still  bruised  from  a  blow  that  her  husband  had 
given  her  the  day  before,  flung  a  handful  of 
brushwood  upon  the  fire,  and  as  the  flame 
sprang  up  from  it  through  the  smoke,  she  saw 
the  full  bag  which  Pierre  had  let  down  upon 
the  ground. 

The  woman  laid  her  hand  upon  it  with  an 
eager  look.  "  You  have  brought  us  some 
bread  ?"  she  said  joyfully. 

"  Better  than  that,"  cried  Pierre,  laughing. 
"  I  have  found  a  turkey,  which  you  must  cook 
for  my  Shrove-Tuesday's  dinner." 

"  Stolen  !"  all  at  once  cried  a  clear  voice. 

The  husband  and  wife  stared  at  one  another. 
Pierre  thought  he  had  not  heard  aright ;  Ser- 
aphine  had  turned  white. 

"  Where  did  you  find  the  turkey  ?"  she 
asked. 

"  In  a  hedge,"  said  Pierre,  "  where  there  was 
neither  man  nor  house." 

"  And  where  you  will  return  and  take  me 


THE  WONDERFUL  TURKEY.  241 

back  again,"  interrupted  the  voice,  shrill  and 
bird-like,  but  quite  distinct. 

Seraphine  fell  upon  her  knees  beside  the  bag : 
it  was  the  turkey  that  had  spoken  !  Pierre 
remained  motionless,  confounded  and  terrified, 
with  the  perspiration  standing  in  drops  upon 
his  forehead. 

'■  Take  me  upon  your  shoulder,"  said  the 
voice  again. 

Tired  as  he  was,  the  terrified  workman 
obeyed.  Without  stopping  to  sit  down,  or  eat 
a  morsel  of  bread  or  drink  a  glass  of  cider,  he 
threw  the  bag  upon  his  shoulder,  and  went 
along  the  road  that  he  had  already  traversed 
an  hour  before. 

The  bag  was  light  at  first,  but  at  each  step 
he  took  Pierre  felt  the  burden  grow  heavier. 
"  I  can  go  on  no  longer,"  he  said  presently  to 
himself ;  "  I  am  too  tired."  And  then  he  broke 
into  an  exclamation  of  anger.  "  Cursed  tur- 
key !"  cried  he. 

The  sack  grew  heavier  and  heavier  upon 
his  shoulders.  At  the  bejrinnino;  of  his  walk 
the  weight  of  it  had  scarcely  been  ten  pounds, 
but  before  lie  had  carried  it  for  half  an  hour 
it  seemed  to  be  a  hundred-weight,  and  with 
every  step  it  grew  heavier  and  heavier.    When 


242  LITTLE  MISS  PEGGY. 

at  length  he  stood  still  to  take  breath,  the  voice, 
which  froze  the  blood  in  his  veins,  instantly 
exclaimed,  "  Go  on  !■"  and  Pierre  went  on  his 
way  again,  withont  daring  even  to  murmur, 
for  each  complaint  and  each  oath  he  nttered 
increased  the  burden  that  was  weighing  him 
down. 

Pierre's  steps  insensibly  grew  slower;  it  was 
with  difficulty,  and  only  by  the  greatest  effort, 
that  he  continued  to  go  forward  at  all.  The 
unhappy  man  thought  no  more  now  of  the 
Broom-Bough,  of  Shrove-Tuesday,  or  of  the 
gay  companions  with  whom  he  had  hoped  to 
spend  the  night  while  his  wife  and  children 
starved  at  home  ;  he  only  thought  of  his  fa- 
tigue, of  his  terror,  of  the  bad  luck  (this  was 
the  name  he  gave  to  his  theft)  that  had  put 
the  turkey  in  his  way.  He  felt  his  knees  tot- 
tering ;  he  panted  for  breath ;  he  was  bathed 
in  perspiration ;  his  trembling  hands  leaned 
for  support  against  the  trees  as  he  passed.  At 
last  he  fell,  overwhelmed  by  his  burden  ;  he 
had  fainted  on  the  road,  and  in  the  dark  night 
he  lay  dying  of  fatigue  and  fear. 

It  was  cold  ;  the  icy  wind  whistled  through 
the  bare  branches,  and  the  unhappy  man  would 
have  expired  without  help  if  Marin  had  not 


THE  WONDERFUL  TURRET.  U% 

chanced  to  pass  that  way.  Finding  his  com- 
rade lying  on  the  ground,  he  lifted  him  upon 
his  shoulders,  and  carried  him  as  far  as  the 
first  cottage,  charity  giving  to  one  brave  peas- 
ant that  strength  which  the  other  had  lost 
through  remorse  and  fear.  When  the  wretched 
man  came  to  his  senses,  he  opened  his  eyes 
wildly. 

"  The  turkey  !"  murmured  he. 

Nobody  understood  what  he  meant,  and  he 
confessed  nothing.  Perhaps  he  tried  himself 
to  believe  that  it  had  all  been  a  dream,  as 
wonderful  dreams  do  happen  sometimes  on  the 
eve  of  Shrove-Tuesday.  But  when  he  went 
home  he  stormed  at  his  family,  and  insisted 
that  they  too  should  hold  their  tongues. 

Pierre  never  became  either  a  good  husband 
or  a  good  father.  His  family  turned  out  ill, 
and  soon  left  him.  But  the  peasant  had 
learned  at  least  one  wholesome  lesson :  however 
great  might  be  his  distress,  however  much  he 
might  be  tempted  by  the  Broom-Bough,  he 
never  again  laid  a  finger  on  the  property  of 
other  people.  If  he  ever  longed  to  do  so,  he 
always  heard  the  formidable  words  ringing  in 
his  ears—"  Turkey  !"  "  Stolen  !"  "  Go  on!  go 
on!" 


244  LITTLE  MISS  PEQG  T. 


THE  NIGHT  WASHERWOMEN. 

"  I  tell  you,  Eire,  young  girls  ought  not  to 
go  to  feasts,"  said  a  woman  whose  voice  and 
features  were  sharpened  by  severe  pain.  She 
lay  in  her  bed,  Avitli  its  large-flowered  Indian 
curtains  drawn  round  her,  suffering  from  an 
illness  that  seemed  likely  to  carry  her  to  her 
grave.  Her  daughter,  who  was  sewing  near 
the  window,  was  large,  fair,  and  young,  with 
open  blue  eyes  and  white  teeth.  She  answered 
quite  naturally  to  the  name  of  Hire  (Laughter), 
by  which  she  was  known  everywhere,  instead 
of  by  her  baptismal  name  of  Zephirine.  She 
was  almost  always  laughing;  but  just  now  a 
dark  cloud  overshadowed  her  brow.  She  was 
out  of  humor,  and  the  shrug  of  her  shoulders 
betrayed  her  extreme  dissatisfaction  with  some- 
thing or  other. 

"  The  feast  of  La  St.  Loup  at  Crevecoeur  is 
the  best  for  ten  miles  round.  I  do  not  see  why 
I  should  not  go  like  other  people.     If  young 


THE  NIGHT  WASHER-WOMEN.  245 

girls  do  not  go  to  feasts,  there  will  soon  be  no 
feasts  at  all." 

The  mother  was  rather  deaf,  and  could  not 
hear  her  daughter's  words,  but  she  had  no  dif- 
ficulty in  interpreting  her  gestures. 

"  You  cannot  go  to  the  St.  Loup,"  said  she, 
"  because  I  am  ill,  and  a  girl  does  not  go  to  a 
feast  without  her  mother." 

This  reflection  rather  shook  Eire's  confidence ; 
she  hesitated,  but  soon  answered  : 

"  If  my  godfather  will  take  me,  may  I  not 
go?" 

The  invalid  sighed ;  she  was  tired,  and 
wanted  to  go  to  sleep.  She  had  brought  up  her 
daughter  badly,  and  knew  very  well  that  if 
Hire  was  disappointed  she  would  bang  the 
doors,  rattle  the  crockery,  let  her  scissors  fall, 
and  not  permit  her  poor  mother  a  minute's 
rest. 

"  If  your  godfather  would  take  charge  of 
such  a  madcap,"  sighed  she. 

"He  would  like  nothing  better ;"  and  Hire 
started  off  her  chair  with  such  eagerness  that 
she  upset  it,  and  kissed  her  mother  in  high 
good-humor,  by  way  of  gratitude.  "  He  always 
says  that  the  feasts  are  not  so  pretty  as  they 
were  when   he  was  young,  but  he  never  misses 


246  LITTLE  MISS  PEG  G  7. 

one,  notwithstanding.  I  will  go  to  the  farm  at 
supper-time  this  evening,  and  ask  him  to  take 
me  on  his  pony,"  said  the  happy  girl.  And, 
laughing  and  talking,  she  jumped  about  the 
room,  making  the  windows  vibrate  with  every 
step,  knocking  her  feet  on  the  rough  tile  floor- 
ing, and  never  perceiving  that  her  mother 
turned  pale  and  put  her  hand  on  her  heart  with 
an  expression  of  pain.  And  then  Eire,  glad  to 
have  gained  her  victory,  and  delighted  with  the 
prospect  of  the  promised  pleasure,  went  away 
to  the  garden  singing  merrily. 

The  invalid  had  lost  all  thought  of  the  pres- 
ent time  ;  half-insensible  from  pain,  she  was 
unconsciously  recalling  the  days  when  her  hus- 
band was  living,  and  she  was  happy,  strong, 
and  good-looking,  and  when  her  sons  were 
not  with  the  army,  and  her  Eire  was  quite  a 
little  girl,  from  whom  nobody  had  required 
more  than  to  be  healthy  and  merry.  The  poor 
mother  sighed  bitterly.  She  did  not  blame 
her  daughter ;  on  the  contrary,  if  any  one  made 
the  least  allusion  to  Eire's  excessive  love 
of  pleasure,  she  would  eagerly  defend  her. 
"Youth  must  pass  away,"  she  would  say. 
But  she  felt  sad  and  lonely  when  her  child 
left  her  all  day  long,  to  go  away  and  amuse 


THE  NIGHT  WASHER-  WOMEN.  247 

herself.  According  to  the  custom  of  Norman- 
dy mothers,  she  had  devoted  herself  entirely 
to  her  children ;  but  she  had  not  made  them 
comprehend  that  self-denial  ought  to  awaken 
self-denial,  and  that  parents  as  well  as  children 
equally  owe  obedience  to  a  Divine  Master. 
Rire  went  to  church  on  Sunday,  but  she  used 
to  think  all  the  time  of  the  feast  that  would 
follow  the  mass,  of  her  bonnet-ribbons  or  her 
shoe-buckles,  and  never  heard  the  priest's 
voice.  All  the  young  folks  would  gather 
round  Rire ;  but  the  parents  would  shake  their 
heads  and  say,  "  She  is  a  very  pretty  girl,  but 
she  will  not  make  a  good  woman  ;  she  is  too 
giddy."  Many  mothers  sighed  as  they  spoke 
thus  ;  for  some  of  their  daughters  were  not 
more  steady,  and  very  few  as  handsome  as 
Rire. 

It  was  the  morning  of  the  St.  Loup  feast,  and 
the  narrow  roads  that  led  to  the  town  of 
Crevecceur,  generally  so  quiet  and  lonely,  were 
crowded  with  peasants  dressed  in  their  best, 
with  their  red  umbrellas  in  their  hands,  care- 
fully picking  their  steps  through  the  cart-ruts 
and  the  pools  of  water.  Notwithstanding  the 
long  drought,  mud  reigned  supreme  in  each 
deep  and  shady  path,  which  often  became  the 


248  LITTLE  MISS  PEOO  Y. 

bed  of  a  little  stream.  The  women  pressed 
against  the  big  hedges  to  avoid  being  splashed 
by  the  passing  horses,  carrying,  perhaps,  a  rich 
grazier  and  his  wife,  or  a  cattle  dealer  and  his 
daughter,  whose  large  cap,  trimmed  with  lace 
and  ribbons,  rose  above  the  broad-brimmed  hat 
and  embroidered  blouse  of  her  companion. 
Everybody  was  going  to  the  feast,  and  nobody 
was  happier  than  Eire.  She  had  milked  the 
cow,  fed  the  fowls,  prepared  her  mother's 
soup  :  everything  that  she  thought  her  duty  to 
do  she  had  done.  But  no  more.  Helping  her 
mother  for  love  did  not  enter  her  mind. 

At  every  plunge  of  the  animal  they  rode,  she 
threw  her  arms  .round  the  stout  waist  of  her 
godfather,  laughing  at  her  own  alarm  and  chat- 
tering incessantly.  The  old  farmer  paid  no 
more  attention  to  her  merry  talk  than  to  the 
songs  of  the  birds  in  the  hedges.  But  Eire 
chattered  on  just  as  much  as  ever. 

"  Were  you  not  frightened  last  night,  god- 
father, when  Tranquille  came  to  say  that  the 
fairy  bulls  had  come  into  the  upper  field  ?" 

This  time  the  old  man  turned  round  his  face, 
softened  by  a  smile. 

"  Tranquille  paid  for  the  fright  he  gave  me," 
said  he  calmly.  "  He  made  acquaintance  with 
the  handle  of  my  whip." 


THE  NIGHT  WASHER-  WOMEN.  249 

"  But,  godfather,"  insisted  Eire,  "  if  he  really 
saw  the  bulls  ?" 

The  farmer  laughed  aloud  as  he  said, 
"  There  is  not  a  single  ear  broken  in  all  the 
field.  Mine  is  the  finest  wheat  in  the  whole 
country — more  than  eighty  bushels  an  acre,  I 
will  answer  for  it." 

"Tranquille  does  not  drink,"  eagerly  ex- 
claimed Eire ;  "  his  eyes  could  not  deceive 
him." 

The  farmer  looked  at  the  young  girl. 

"  You  really  believe  Tranquille  ?"  said  he. 

Eire  colored,  but  did  not  lower  her  eyes. 

"  He  has  told  me  more  than  ten  times  over 
that  he  saw  the  bulls,"  replied  she,  in  a  low 
voice. 

"  Where  have  you  seen  him,  to  give  him  the 
opportunity  of  telling  you  this  fact  so  many 
times  ?"  asked  her  godfather. 

"  Just  now,  after  mass,"  answered  Eire,  a  lit- 
tle confused. 

"  So  he  stopped  under  the  yew  tree  in  the 
churchyard  to  repeat  his  nonsense  to  you,  in- 
stead of  going  to  church?"  inquired  the 
farmer. 

Eire  gave  a  nod  of  assent. 

.Her   godfather   looked   thoughtfully  as   he 


250  LITTLE  MISS  PEGGY. 

said  slowly,  "  I  do  not  regret  having  struck 
him — no.  It  mil  teach  him  to  think  before  he 
speaks.  But  I  do  not  say  he  has  not  seen 
the  bulls.  They  are  fairy  bulls.  My  late 
father  also  saw  them  once  in  the  same  place. 
Only,  if  Tranquille  had  had  as  much  sense  as 
he,  he  would  have  thrown  his  stick  after  the 
last  beast,  and  all  the  band  would  have  been 
off  as  fast  as  possible,  without  so  much  as  a 
ear  of  corn  bending  its  head.  That  was  my 
late  father's  way ;  no  noise,  no  fuss  did  he 
make." 

While  the  old  man  meditated  thus  upon  the 
merits  of  his  father,  who  had  been  in  his  grave 
more  than  thirty  years,  Eire  repeated,  in  a  low 
tone,  "  If  Tranquille  saw  the  bulls,  they  must 
have  been  there  for  a  certainty." 

They  were  approaching  Crevecceur,  and 
every  minute  the  crowd  grew  thicker.  The 
young  men  sang  louder;  the  girls,  nearly  all 
accompanied  by  their  mothers,  talked  more 
merrily ;  the  sound  of  violins  was  already 
heard.  The  cries  of  the  boys  playing,  the 
sound  of  the  balls  hitting  against  one  another, 
and  the  rattle  of  the  porcelain  lotteries  grew 
more  and  more  distinct. 

Eire  smiled  in  delighted  anticipation  of  the 
pleasure  that  awaited  her. 


THE  NIGHT  WASHER-W OMEN.  251 

"  You  will  not  go  home  till  night,  will  you, 
godfather  ?"  said  the  girl  coaxingly. 

The  old  farmer  smiled. 

"  That  will  depend  on  the  quality  of  the 
brandy  that  the  good  Ernault  will  have  to  give 
us,"  muttered  he. 

Eire  jumped  for  joy  on  the  pony's  back. 

"  The  amiable  Ernault's  brandy  is  always 
good,"  said  she,  "  and  it  pays  no  duty." 

Her  godfather  smiled.  He  had  sold  many 
barrels  of  brandy  to  the  publican,  without  the 
exciseman  touching  a  penny.  At  night,  when 
it  was  quite  dark,  occasionally  more  than  one 
horse  might  have  been  seen  making  its  way 
along  the  deep  road,  and  under  the  bundles  of 
hay  attached  to  both  sides  of  the  saddle  might 
have  been  found  those  cans  of  brandy  and  of 
cider  which  were  as  dear  and  as  fatal  to  the 
Normans  of  a  hundred  years  ago  as  to  their 
descendants  of  the  present  day. 

The  evening  had  come.  Eire  had  danced 
all  day,  and  had  drawn  in  the  lotteries  con- 
ducted by  the  best  young  men  in  the  town. 
She  had  eaten  cake  and  green  plums,  and 
dipped  her  lips  in  a  little  glass  of  brandy. 
But  her  enjoyment  had  not  been  unmixed ; 
for   the    daughters    of    the  cattle  dealer  wore 


252  LITTLE  MISS  PEGG  Y. 

finer  lace  in  their  bonnets  than  hers.  Pulche- 
rie  Lebourg,  the  niece  of  the  great  grazier  of 
St.  Marie,  exhibited  over  her  purple  silk  bodice 
a  gold  chain  and  cross,  which  glittered  in  Eire's 
dazzled  eyes  long  after  the  yonng  orphan  was 
on  her  way  to  the  distant  farm  where  she  kept 
honse  for  her  nncle. 

Eire  was  tired,  and  not  gay  as  she  usually 
was ;  and  the  smart  repartee  died  on  her  lips. 
She  began  to  think  of  her  mother  whom  she 
had  left  so  long  alone,  and  a  passionate  desire 
to  go  home  suddenly  seized  her.  Eire  always 
yielded  to  her  first  impulse,  whether  good  or 
bad.  This  time  a  good  impulse  impelled  her 
toward  her  mother ;  the  young  girl  was  eager 
to  go.  She  called  Tranquille,  who  was  hover- 
ing about  her,  though  kept  from  coining  near 
by  the  presence  of  people  richer  and  better 
dressed  than  himself. 

"  Will  you  go  and  see  where  my  godfather 
is  drinking,  and  if  he  is  ready  to  have  his  pony 
saddled  V  she  said  to  him. 

When  Tranquille  returned,  Rire  had  not 
gone  back  to  dance ;  she  was  sitting  on  a  stone, 
leaning  her  head  on  her  hand. 

aThe  master  says  that  the  good  man's 
brandy  is   excellent,  and  that  you  may  amuse 


THE  NIGHT  WASHER-  WOMEN.  253 

yourself  as  long  as  you  like.  He  is  just  now 
asleep,  and  will  not  waken  very  soon,"  said 
Tranquille. 

The  young  serving-man  did  not  say  that  he 
had  tried  to  persuade  the  farmer  to  take  Eire 
home,  and  that  he  had  been  rewarded  by  a 
volley  of  oaths. 

Eire  did  not  reply ;  she  had  bent  her  head 
down,  and  her  tears  flowed  between  her  fin- 
gers. 

It  was  dark  at  that  time,  and  Tranquille  did 
not  perceive  that  she  was  crying,  till  a  little 
sob  betrayed  her  grief. 

"What  is  the  matter?"  cried  he  eagerly. 
"  Are  you  hurt  ?  Has  any  one  done  you  any 
harm  ?" 

Eire  shrugged  her  shoulders. 

"Leave  me  alone,  Tranquille,"  said  she 
crossly.  "As  if  one  did  not  cry  sometimes 
without  knowing  why.  Tell  my  godfather  I 
am  going  home  on  foot  by  the  cross-road  di- 
rectly." 

Tranquille  started. 

"  Alone — at  night !"  said  he.  "  That  must 
not  be  ;  I  will  go  with  you  if  you  will  allow 
me." 

"  That    everybody    may   talk    about  it   to- 


254  LITTLE  MISS  PEOG  7. 

morrow  !"  scornfully  retorted  the  girl.  "  Are 
you  afraid  that  I  may  meet  the  fairy  bulls  in 
the  upper  field  ?" 

Tranquille  felt  himself  color. 

"  As  I  hope  to  go  to  heaven,  there  were  more 
than  a  hundred  in  the  corn  running  about  like 
so  many  demons,"  said  he,  twisting  round  his 
hand  the  leather  thong  of  his  stick.  "  If  I  had 
had  this  I  could  have  chased  them  away,  and 

the  master "     Tranquille  again  colored ;  he 

had  not  forgiven  the  old  farmer  for  the  beating 
he  had  given  him. 

When  he  looked  up  again  Eire  was  no  longer 
sitting  on  the  stone.  She  had  disappeared,  and 
was  walking  in  the  dark,  with  her  skirts  tucked 
up  and  her  umbrella  in  her  hand,  along  the 
well-known  road. 

"  If  my  godfather  is  angry,"  thought  she,  "  so 
much  the  worse  for  him ;  why  did  he  not  take 
me  home  on  his  pony  ?" 

Hire  advanced  fearlessly ;  she  only  half -be- 
lieved the  alarming  stories  she  had  been  accus- 
tomed to  hear  ever  since  her  childhood,  and 
was  not  disturbed  by  fear  of  either  goblin  or 
fairy,  or  even  of  mysterious  bulls.  She  did 
not  listen  to  the  night  wind  whistling  in  the 
branches  of  the  trees,  and  paid  no  attention  to 


THE  NIGHT  WASHER-WOMEN.  255 

the  cries  of  the  owls  or  the  nibbling  of  the 
rabbits  squatting  in  the  hedges  or  scampering 
across  the  path.  Once,  however,  she  uttered  a 
little  scream  when  the  moon,  emerging  from  a 
cloud,  showed  her  a  black-and-yellow  lizard 
gliding  softly  under  the  leaves  of  a  trailing 
brier.  The  girl  turned  pale,  but  she  quickly 
recovered  herself  when  she  remembered  that 
the  death  foretold  by  a  meeting  with  a  lizard 
was  only  inevitable  when  the  encounter  took 
place  between  noon  and  midnight ;  and  Hire 
had  lingered  so  long  at  the  feast  that  the  old 
clock  had  struck  twelve  before  she  had  started 
on  her  road  home. 

She  was  drawing  near  the  upper  field,  the 
boundary  of  her  godfather's  land.  The  long 
golden  lines  of  the  corn  began  to  wave  before 
her  eyes,  and  she  smiled  at  the  idea  of  a  troop 
of  bulls  turning  into  this  rich  crop.  Suddenly 
she  came  in  sight  of  the  cluster  of  willows 
which  stood  out  against  the  dark  background 
of  an  old  yew  hedge,  which  was  cut  and  trained 
carefully  every  year  by  the  farmer's  own 
hands,  in  memory  of  his  grandfather,  who  was 
said  to  have  planted  it  more  than  a  hundred 
years  before. 

"  Here  I  am  at  the  fort,"  said  Hire  to  herself ; 


256  LITTLE  MISS  PEOG  T. 

u  and  once  in  the  avenue,  it  will  be  only  a  little 
quarter  of  an  hour  before  I  am  at  home.  Let  us 
hope  Mademoiselle  de  Plunfort"  (a  celebrated 
ghost  of  the  neighborhood)  "  will  not  walk  to- 
night." 

Just  as  she  was  thinking  thus,  and  quicken- 
ing her  steps  to  enter  the  long  avenue  of  lin- 
den trees — the  last  remnant  of  those  days  in 
which  the  farm  close  by  had  been  a  seigniorial 
manor — she  distinctly  heard  the  hard  and  reg- 
ular sound  of  a  washer- woman's  beetle. 

Hire  turned  pale,  and  for  an  instant  her 
limbs  trembled  under  her ;  then  she  advanced 
boldly,  her  eyes  involuntarily  fixed  on  the 
fort. 

White  figures  appeared  bending  in  the  water, 
beetle  now  answered  to  beetle,  and  a  woman  of 
a  large  size  moved  up  and  down  on  the  edge  of 
the  moat  as  if  directing  her  servants. 

Eire  walked  with  a  convulsive  step,  and 
pressed  her  hands  one  against  the  other.  "  It 
is  Mademoiselle  de  Plunfort  and  the  night 
washer-women  !"  murmured  she. 

The  beetles  of  the  washers  had  stopped; 
they  had  raised  themselves  up  now,  and  were 
gliding  noiselessly  toward  the  young  girl. 
The  tallest  woman,  Mademoiselle  de  Plunfort, 


THE  NIGHT  WASHER- WOMEN.  257 

who  had  sacrificed  everything  to  her  love  of 
pleasure — the  peace  of  her  mother  and  the 
love  of  her  betrothed — and  therefore  was  con- 
demned to  be  a  wandering  ghost,  washing  for- 
ever the  linen  that  she  had  neglected  in  life 
— appeared  gliding  along  in  spectral  fashion, 
and  looking  just  according  to  the  stories  cur- 
rent about  her  for  so  many  years.  She  seized 
Eire's  icy  hand  and  drew  her  into  her  funereal 
dance,  while  the  other  washer- women  formed  a 
ring  round  them  both.  Hire,  petrified  by  fear, 
could  not  take  a  single  step,  but  the  phantom 
seemed  to  bear  her  along  without  any  effort 
on  her  own  part.  She  knew  not  where  she 
was  going — perhaps  down,  down  into  the  bot- 
tomless pit — when  all  at  once  a  friendly  voice 
rang  through  the  darkness. 

"  Hire  !  Rire  !"  cried  Tranquille.  Then  rais- 
ing his  stick  in  the  direction  of  the  shadows, 
he  called  aloud,  in  a  strangely  firm  tone  : 

"  In  the  name  of  the  Holy  Trinity  let  my 
betrothed  pass  I" 

The  phantoms  drew  back,  grew  fainter,  and 
then  vanished  in  the  darkness.  Tranquille 
still  advanced,  repeating  the  same  words. 
Rire  felt  her  hand  loosed  from  the  ghostly 
grasp.     Through    all   her  terror  and  through 


258  LITTLE  MISS  PEGGY. 

the  joy  of  her  deliverance,  she  had  been  con- 
scious of  a  new  happiness  at  Tranquille's  bold 
words,  "  Let  my  betrothed  pass."  He  had  never 
yet  asked  her  to  marry  him ;  but  he  loved  her, 
she  knew ;  she  loved  him  also. 

An  hour  later  Eire  went  home  to  her  mother, 
who  wept  with  fear  and  joy  at  the  wonderful 
story  she  told.  The  two  young  people  had 
taken  a  long  time  to  come  up  the  lime  avenue ; 
but  during  that  walk  they  had  settled  the  fate 
of  their  lives.  Eire  knelt  at  the  foot  of  her 
mother's  bed  and  allowed  Tranquille  to  explain 
everything.  As  he  ended,  he  bent  toward  her 
and  said,  in  a  low  tone  : 

"  If  I  had  not  followed  you,  Mademoiselle  de 
Plunfort  and  her  washer-women  would  have 
made  you  dance  while  they  were  wringing  their 
linen — dance  until  you  were  dead." 

Eire  cast  a  happy  and  malicious  look  on  her 
affianced. 

'  I  did  not  see  any  linen,"  she  said,  laugh- 
ing. 

"  But  you  were  not  sorry  to  see  me,"  insisted 
Tranquille. 

Eire  threw  herself  into  her  mother's  arms. 

When,  two  months  after,  Tranquille  took 
his  bride  to  the  village  church,  her  godfather 


THE  NIGHT  WASHER-  WOMEN.  259 

stopped  her  as  they  were  coming  from  the 
mass. 

"  I  have  sent  a  fine  cow  to  your  house  ;  I  owe 
you  something  for  the  fright  you  had  that  night 
of  St.  Loup's  feast." 

Eire  laughed. 

"  How  very  fortunate  it  was  that  the  good 
man's  brandy  was  so  excellent.  But  for  that  I 
should  perhaps  not  have  known,  even  yet,  that 
I  loved  Tranquille." 

"  And  how  did  you  know  that  he  loved  you i" 
asked  the  old  farmer. 

Rire  looked  at  her  husband  and  smiled. 

"  One  always  doubts  of  some  things,"  an- 
swered she. 

But  the  lovers  kept  to  themselves  the  story 
of  the  night  washer-women. 

The  foolish  young  girl  had  become  a  sensible 
woman.  She  was  as  happy  now  to  work  as 
she  had  formerly  been  to  go  to  feasts. 

Her  mother  did  not  recover  her  health,  but 
she  was  no  longer  sad  and  lonely.  She  was 
rarely  left  alone  now,  except  at  the  end  of  the 
day,  when  Tranquille  returned  from  his  work. 
Then  he  almost  always  found  his  wife  waiting 
for  him  by  the  lime  avenue. 

"  Are  you  looking  if  the  night  washer-women 


260  LITTLE  MISS  PEGG  T. 

have  left  any  of  their  linen  behind  ?"  he  would 
ask  her,  with  tender  maliciousness. 

"  No,"  Eire  would  reply,  with  her  old  laugh. 
"  I  have  looked  for  nothing  since  I  found 
you." 


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publisher,  A.  L.  BURT,  97  Reade  Street,  New  York. 


The  Fireside  Series  for  Girls. 

Uniform  Cloth  Binding.    Illustrated. 

A  carefully  selected  series  of  books 
for  girls  written  by  authors  of  acknowl- 
edged reputation.  The  stories  are 
deeply  interesting  in  themselves,  and 
have  a  moral  charm  that  emanates 
from  the  principal  characters;  they 
teach  without  preaching,  are  of  lively 
interest  throughout,  and  will  win  the 
hearts  of  all  girl  readers. 

Esther.    By  Rosa  Nouchette  Carey.    Illustrated. 
Price  SI. 00. 

A  World  of  Girls:  The  Story  of  a  School. 
By  L.  T.  Meade.    Illustrated.  Price  $1.00. 

The  Heir  of  Redclyffe.    By  Charlotte  M.  Yonge.    Illus.    Price  $1.00. 

The  Story  of  a  Short  Life.  By  Juliana  Horatia  Ewing.  Illustrated. 
Price  $1 .00. 

A  Sweet  Girl  Graduate.    By  L.  T.  Meade.    Illustrated.    Price  $1.00. 

Our  Bessie.    By  Rosa  Nouchette  Carey.    Rlustrated.    Price  $1.00. 

Six  to  Sixteen:  A  Story  for  Girls.  By  Juliana  Horatia  Ewing.  Il- 
lustrated.   Price  $1.00. 

The  Dove  in  the  Eagle's  Nest.  By  Charlotte  M.  Yonge.  Illustrated. 
Price  $1.00. 

Gianetta:  A  Girl's  Story  of  Herself.  By  RosaMulholland.  Illus- 
trated.   Price  $1.00. 

Jan  of  the  "Windmill:  A  Story  of  the  Plains.  By  Juliana  Horatlj 
Ewing.    Illustrated.    Price  $1.00. 

Averil.    By  Rosa  Nouchette  Carey.    Illustrated.    Price  $1.00. 

Alice  in  "Wonderland   and  Alice  Through  the  Looking- Glass. 

Two  volumes  in  one.     By  Lewis  Carroll.    Illustrated.    Price  $1.00. 
Merle's  Crusade.     By  Rosa  Nouchette  Carey.    Illustrated.    Price  $1.00 

Girl  Neighbors;  or,  The  Old  Fashion  and  the  New.    By  Sarab 

Tytler.    Illustrated.     Price.  $1.00. 
Polly:  A  New  Fashioned  Girl.    By  L.  T.  Meade.    Illus.    Price  $1.00. 
Aunt  Diana.    By  Rosa  N.  Carey.     Illustrated.    Price  $1.00. 

The  "Water  Babies:  A  Fairy  Tale  for  a  Land-Baby.  By  Charlw 
Kingsley.    Illustrated.     Price  $1.00. 

At  the  Back  of  the  North  "Wind.  By  George  Macdonald-  Illus- 
trated.   Price  $1.00. 

The  Chaplet  of  Pearls;  or  The  "White  and  Black  Ribaumon*.  By 
Charlotte  M.  Yonge.     Illustrated.     Price  $1.00. 

The  Days  of  Bruce:  A  Story  of  Scottish  History.  By  Gracb  aoti- 
lar.    Illustrated.     Price  $1.00. 

The  Palace  Beautiful:  A  Story  for  Girls.  By  L.  T.  Meade.  Illus 
trated.  Price  $1.00. 

Margery  Merton's  Girlhood.    By  Alice  Ccrkran.    Illus.    Pric&  $1.00. 

Three  Bright  Girls:  A  Story  of  Chance  and  Mischance.  l»y  Annm 
E.  Armstrong.     Illustrated.     Price  $1 .00. 

Pythia's  Pupils:  The  Story  of  a  School.  By  Eva  Hartner.  Illus- 
trated.   Price  $1.00. 

The  Lady  of  the  Forest:  A  Story  for  Girls.  By  L.  T.  Meade.  II- 
lustrated.     Price  $1.00. 


For  sale  fey  all  booksellers,  or  sent  postpaid  on  receipt  of  prioe  by  the 
publisher,  A.  L.  BURT,  97  Betide  Street,  New  York. 


